


The Familiar

by Teland



Category: DCU (Comics), The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dogboys & Doggirls, Established Relationship, F/M, Familiars, Female Character of Color, First Time, Foursome - F/M/M/M, Frottage, Gore, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Knotting, Light BDSM, M/M, Magic, Married Couple, Masturbation, Multi, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Praise Kink, Religious Content, Rimming, Romance, Rough Oral Sex, Soul Bond, Telepathy, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 16:04:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6992728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason inhales sharply. "You see it, don't you?" </p><p>"See — why did you bring me a *dog*?" </p><p>"Amant —"</p><p>"Why did you bring me a *magical* dog?"</p><p>"Well — you could ask him?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. There's really only one way this can go.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Houndstar](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Houndstar), [naughtypixie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/naughtypixie/gifts).



> Disclaimers: Not mine, except for what is.
> 
> Spoilers/Timeline: Vague, AU-ized mentions of second season storylines. Nothing major. Story takes place pre-series. 
> 
> Author's Note: Houndstar's bunny. :D A certain picture made her think of what might happen if [Character Redacted] was a familiar who'd been turned into a human, and it was just too awesome an idea not to play with.
> 
> This story isn't technically set in any particular universe, but the milieu is quite similar to what I set up in the [you and I will walk together again](http://archiveofourown.org/series/407409) series. You may find reading the first two stories of that series before you read this one helpful. 
> 
> Acknowledgment: I'm still trying to drag myself out of the depression-pit, and my friends and lovers have been amazingly helpful, as always. Much love to Pixie, Melly, Spice, Houndstar, Greyandgold, Sergei, and, of course, my Jack for all the support and advice.

"I apologize." 

Treville blinks — 

Grunts — 

Registers — quickly — that a) that was Jason, b) they're in his bedroom in the manor, c) he'd been asleep — 

"I apologize *profusely*, amant."

Treville grunts again and sits up on his elbows. "For not being *in* this ridiculously soft bed with — why is there a dog with you." 

"I apologize —" 

"Stop that," Treville says, and rubs the sleep-dust from his eyes, sitting up a little better and — no, he stands up and crosses the room.

The dog — 

The dog is — 

Jason inhales sharply. "You see it, don't you?" 

"See — why did you bring me a *dog*?" 

"Amant —"

"Why did you bring me a *magical* dog?"

"Well — you could ask him?"

Treville looks at Jason.

Jason sighs. "I truly *am* sorry, amant," he says, and proffers the dog's lead, just as if Treville's supposed to *take* it — 

The dog, for his part — a beautiful male hound the colour of rich, dark wood, who's still growing by the look of those paws — just sits there, looking up at Treville and — 

And. 

Ah, hell. 

"Jason, I don't *need* a bloody familiar!" 

"That's not what the All-Mother, *your* Mother, said —" 

"I'm my *own* bloody familiar —" 

"That's not what your Mother said to *me*, loudly and vehemently, while I was trying to get some studying done —" 

Treville growls — 

The dog just waits them both out, patient and placid. 

"And you — look, this isn't the best approach to take with me," Treville says, pushing a hand back over his hair and addressing the dog directly. 

The dog cocks his head to the side. 

"No. I'm — I yell, I'm impatient, I'm an arsehole — you don't want to —" 

The dog stands, bristles, and growls, deep and low and long, showing some very nice teeth. 

"Really, now." 

The dog snarls and barks — there's still a bit of a yip to it. 

Treville grins. "What's your name, then?" he says, studiously ignoring the smile on Jason's face. 

The dog stops snarling and wags cautiously. 

"Yes, I asked. It's not like I can just call you 'the dog'. I mean, that's what I call the dog who lives inside me, and that would get right confusing." 

The dog whuffs. 

"I should pick? Are you sure about that? Everyone says I pick pretty terrible names, you know." 

The dog jumps up, tall and strong, splaying his dinnerplate-like paws on Treville's chest. The look in his large, brown eyes is intent, and he's asking — 

He's asking for more than the food that he's absolutely hungry for. 

Treville frowns and scratches behind the dog's ears. "What do you need, hm? What brought you to Jason?"

The dog whines, and he's obviously trying to get *something* across — 

"I can't catch that, Massacreur — do you like that name? — slow down a little — no, wait, let's get some food in you, first." 

The dog blinks at him. 

"You did say I should pick." 

The dog jumps down and licks Treville's hands, walking around and around him and very obviously trying to lead them all to the door — and, presumably, from there to the kitchens. 

"Right, let's go," Treville says, and follows the dog out — 

"Mais bien —"

"I can't believe you didn't *feed* him, Jason." 

"I *did*, amant. I just clearly didn't feed him *enough*," Jason says, handing Treville the — all-but-pointless — lead and walking at his side. "Besides, when the All-Mother contacts *me* to tell me that a *shifter* needs a *familiar*... well, I tend to feel some measure of urgency." 

They follow the dog down the stairs — 

"This has happened to you before, lover?" 

"Not even remotely." 

"I — hm." 

"Exactly. In my experience with shifters, they've all been more or less like you — you get *on* well with animals, but you feel no great need for them in your lives, and thus there's not enough *room* in your lives *for* a familiar." 

Treville grunts and keeps following the dog. "I don't want to do badly by this dog." 

The dog whuffs without turning around. 

And then whuffs extensively for a long moment — 

He — 

"You *do* like Massacreur?" 

The dog wags and growls. 

Adorably, for all the depth. 

Treville grins a little helplessly. "Well, then, Massacreur you'll be. At least until you find something you like better." 

Massacreur wags more and trots through the manor. 

"Somehow — *somehow* — I don't think you'll have to worry about treating *your* familiar well, amant." 

"My — all right, first off, did the Mother say I needed *a* familiar, or did She say I needed *this* familiar?" 

"Your ignorance is astonishing at times, mon amant —" 

"Jason —" 

"When the All-Mother decides that one of her children needs a familiar, she *already* has at *least* one familiar set aside *for* that child. One on every sphere where that child *exists*."

Treville regroups a bit, but — "And that familiar... the way they relate to the witch in question..." 

"What do *you* think, mon amant?" And Jason nods to where Massacreur is waiting patiently at the kitchen door for them, and not tugging on the lead overmuch. 

Waiting to be *introduced* to Cook and the kitchen boys, who are of course up this early — 

Waiting to be introduced, because he already knows that's how Treville does things? Or because that's just the kind of dog he is. 

Massacreur grins at him, tongue lolling. 

"Is that so? Somebody raised you right, somewhere along the way?" 

Massacreur whuffs *quietly* for that, grin fading. 

The answer is yes, and also Massacreur misses that someone badly. Treville moves close and crouches by him, stroking his silky head. "I'm sorry for bringing up bad memories. I'll be more careful —" 

Massacreur whips his head round and gives Treville a *look*. 

"I *won't* be more careful?" 

Massacreur licks Treville's cheeks and sits back, looking intent again. 

And that... "You've not had enough conversation, have you." 

Massacreur makes an unhappy noise. 

Treville smiles. "It's true that *most* humans don't talk to dogs, but I happen to have surrounded myself with people who *do*." 

A croon — 

Massacreur looks to Jason — 

And Jason hums. "He truly has, Massacreur. I am *only* the beginning." 

Massacreur whuffs, wags, and stands again, clearly satisfied with that answer, and — for the moment at least — his place in the world. 

Treville strokes down over his back, feeling better — 

Feeling better. 

(Having a familiar does tend to work that way, amant.) 

Treville gives Jason a sour look — 

Jason *laughs* at him — 

Treville gets down to the business of introducing Massacreur to the staff, and starting the process of getting him thoroughly spoiled.


	2. Something big and wild and special.

"I can't believe you named this sweet pup bloody *Butcher*," Kitos says, lifting the massive dog in his even more massive arms — 

Massacreur yips — he's not at *all* sure about his sudden altitude — 

"Aw, look at you!"

Massacreur yips again, pedaling his back legs a bit — 

"Aren't you just the —" 

And Treville misses the rest of whatever treacle Kitos is putting out, because his mind is full of *alarm*. The need to *hurt* a man who must not be hurt, the need to be *free* — 

Shit — 

"Kitos, put him *down*," Treville orders, more harshly than he has with the man since — 

He can't remember when — 

"What — shit, Fearless, all *right* —" And Kitos sets Massacreur down — 

Massacreur trots over to lick Treville's hands and sit at his heels — 

"Oh — fuck — was I hurting him? Does he have — a bad rib? Or something?" 

Treville frowns and crouches, strokes Massacreur — 

Takes his licks — 

The *facial* licks which, really, don't come very often, given that Massacreur *is* a dog —

"You really were *upset* —"

Massacreur pulls back and whuffs and whuffs and — 

And Treville gets it. "He doesn't like being helpless, brother." 

"I — so what you're saying is that he's *not* just your pet." 

Treville blinks. 

*Looks* at Kitos. 

Looks *hard* — 

"Don't give me that, Fearless! *You* told *all* of us that you'd *never* get a familiar." 

And there's a little — 

A little *wavering* in Massacreur — 

A hitch in his slowing breathing — 

Treville licks his nose — 

Massacreur yips in surprise and wags cautiously. 

"I said that before I met you. I didn't know what I'd need. All right?" 

Massacreur croons, and sends an *intensely* thick wave of their scents, braided together. 

That...

It's how *he* experiences them, and how Treville would experience them were he the dog, and it's... 

Wonderful. 

Soothing and warm and fundamentally correct. 

Massacreur grins, lolling his long, pink tongue — 

"*That* looks better," Kitos says, still a little careful. 

"It is. It is," Treville says, and licks Massacreur's nose again, and then stands to join Kitos in packing their *special* saddlebag. 

In truth, it's always ready to go with cards, dice, pomade, oil, and the like, but they're constantly denuding it of wine and other spirits, and running out of *that* in the middle of a mission just wouldn't do. 

Kitos has them covered in terms of the wine, though, and Treville has some excellent brandy for them to appreciate not at all as they swill it like the pigs they are — 

"So..." 

"Mm?" 

"What happens if — *when* — we have to take off at a gallop, Fearless?" And Kitos beetles those bushy brows at him.

"Massacreur will find us," Treville says, and buckles up the saddle bag after padding the bottles nice and cozy. 

"But..." 

"Massacreur will find us," Treville says again. "That's just how familiars work." 

"He can... smell you better? Or something?" 

"He could point to me — exactly where I was — if I were in bloody Kashmir, brother —" 

Kitos grunts. "*That's* a nice trick," he says, and looks at Massacreur for a long moment before crouching down and offering his hands. "Hey, there, mate — I'm *very* sorry for presuming, and I *won't* do it again. I'll keep these paws to myself if you want me to." 

Massacreur sniffs at Kitos warily, from a distance —

"It's all —" But Massacreur doesn't let Treville finish before he's trotting over to Kitos and licking his hands, and leaving himself — politely — in petting range. 

Kitos grins. "Is that so? Thank you *very* much, friend," he says, and strokes Massacreur gently and firmly and respectfully. "Have you gotten a chance to play with Treville's dog, yet?" 

Massacreur croons. 

"No? Well, that's not right, at all. Maybe when we're all on the road, hey?" 

Massacreur wags and grins. 

"Yeah, he's a good bloke, that dog. Gets a little too serious sometimes — just like you, maybe?" 

Massacreur croons more — 

Kitos frowns — "I missed that one." 

Treville swings the saddlebag on over his shoulder. "He says he has a lot to be serious about." 

Kitos blinks. "Do you? Were things pretty hard before you met Fearless?" 

Massacreur growls a little and scoots back and away, moving to the door just like that. 

"Well, I caught *that*." 

Treville frowns and nods. "He doesn't like talking about his past. Which... we can all understand that —" 

"Buggering hell, yes," Kitos says, checking his weapons one last time before following Treville out — 

"But there's also something there. Something... important, I think." 

Kitos grunts. "And Jason's not sure, either?" 

"All Jason's sure of is that there *is* something important — Massacreur got the attention of the All-Mother, after all. And made Her nab *him*." 

"That's a funny thing." 

"Mm?"

There are no stairs between Kitos's rooms and the outdoors — they're dilapidated old converted stables that had grown too small for the owner's supply of horses, but were just perfect for people who needed high ceilings — and. once they're outside, the day is bright and sunny and crisp. 

Perfect for a day of riding in heavy leathers —

"Why didn't the goddess just nab *you*?" 

Well... 

"Oh, bloody buggering — *Fearless*." 

"I wasn't *ignoring* the All-Mother." 

"What *were* you doing?" 

Treville scratches in front of his ear. 

Massacreur looks supremely interested — 

"I was — um... neglecting. My devotions." 

Massacreur growls — 

Kitos whallops him — 

"*Ow* —" 

"You *earned* that, Basset." 

"Well —" 

Massacreur actually *barks* at him, which — 

"Right, well, yes, I earned that." 

"*Thank* you. And thank *you*, friend," Kitos says, bowing to Massacreur. 

They collect their horses from the hostler down the street — 

Massacreur sniffs and examines Éventreur and Hestia as much as they'll let him, and seems a bit wistful, but doesn't respond to Treville's questions about it — 

Though he *does* give Treville another *look* about Éventreur's name — 

Which Kitos catches — 

And *booms* laughter about — 

"You see, Butcher? You got off *light*!" 

Massacreur yips laughter and trots easily beside them as they ride for the garrison, where Reynard is waiting for them with his Joséphine, who'd needed to be re-shod.

The farrier always insists that Reynard be there for that, since Joséphine is just as temperamental as *Reynard* is — 

Massacreur looks up — 

"Reynard's a passionate man," Treville says. 

Massacreur whuffs. 

"Well, yes, I am, too, but —" 

Kitos laughs more — "Reynard's a bloody madman and we love him that way, Butcher." 

"Don't give him the wrong *idea*, Kitos —" 

"It's the *right* idea!" 

"It — isn't —" And Treville can't actually finish that sentence. He sighs. "It's the right idea." He turns back to Massacreur. "We have to stop him from killing the wrong people at least two or three times a week —" 

Massacreur yips — 

"He's a *whore*," Kitos says, still laughing — 

Hestia sighs, long-suffering as always — 

"He's definitely a whore. Show him something fit in skirts —" 

"Or Fearless's cock —"

"Or *your* cock, brother. Let's be completist, here." 

Kitos wheezes and beats at his own chest — 

Treville nods to Massacreur — "We've *seen* him sober, and it's really even worse." 

"Oh, bloody hell, yes. Then he's *cranky* and violent and whorish." 

"Exactly," Treville says. "When he's drunk, he's *cheerful* and violent and whorish."

"Most of the time."

"Most of the time, yes." 

Massacreur croons worriedly. 

"Don't worry, Butcher," Kitos says, and tosses Massacreur a meat pie from his saddlebag — 

Massacreur snatches it out of the air and gobbles it right down like the growing boy he is — 

"Reynard *loves* dogs, you know." 

Massacreur croons a muffled question. 

Treville colours just a *bit* — 

Kitos *thunders* laughter and *whacks* Treville on the back, just in time for Éventreur to try to dance Treville *off* his back — 

Treville gets control quickly enough, but — 

But Massacreur squares off against Éventreur and they have a very deep, serious, and *charged* conversation over the next minute and a half or so, Éventreur stamping and tossing his head — 

Massacreur lowering his head and showing *all* of his teeth — 

Éventreur preparing to *rear* — 

And then Massacreur's eyes start to glow, hot and dark and wild all at *once* — and Éventreur *cringes* and settles right down, whickering in *apology*. 

Not to Treville, mind, but *still* — 

"Well, *shit*," Kitos says. 

Treville can only nod. 

Massacreur looks up at him, asking if he'd done *right*, and that... 

Treville rumbles low and fervent, tipping his hat to — 

To his familiar. 

To his *pack*-brother, who will protect him no matter *what* — "Good boy," he says, and — it's nowhere near *enough* — 

But Massacreur still grins wide and wags brightly, stepping just a little more proudly beside them. 

They ride in silence for a few minutes, and Treville tries to just — 

He'd thought he'd taken it in stride — having a familiar. Having someone else to share his home, his life. 

He'd *thought* he'd accepted it all. 

But he has new *pack* now. And that — 

That's something else. 

That's something big, and wild, and special — 

So beautiful —

"All right, Fearless?" 

Massacreur croons, quiet and subdued. 

Massacreur hasn't had a pack — or. Has he? There's something strange, there. As if there was a pack somewhere in his past — a past that simply *can't* have been that *long* — but which had been snatched away from him. 

He — 

He *knows* what pack *means*. 

Knows enough to want it, to crave it, to *value* it for *everything* it's worth — 

Kitos grunts — all the blood they've shared over the years is letting him catch *all* the nuances of this —

"You have it now, pup," Treville says, and his voice is getting away from him a little, but — "You have a *pack*." 

Massacreur croons low and hungry — 

"We won't let anyone take it away from you," Kitos says. "Just you watch and see." 

Massacreur *pants* — 

Trots *closer* — 

The horses let him, without a word of complaint.


	3. You see? He told you they'd talk to you.

"Meneur, who is this beautiful boy? Have our nights grown too quiet and dull?" Reynard, bless him, says this at a volume anyone within several yards could hear. 

Kitos nearly falls off Hestia because he's laughing so hard, but Hestia only sighs again.

Massacreur *stares* at Reynard. 

Treville dismounts a *touch* more nimbly than that, embraces his mad and beautiful brother — 

"Ah, *oui* —" 

And, as ever, their kisses land far too close to their mouths — 

But, these days, it's a promise more than a tease. 

Treville pulls back — Massacreur is still staring. Apparently, Kitos's crack about Reynard loving dogs *had* gone past him. 

"We'll have to train your Massacreur up better, Fearless," Kitos says, and takes his own embrace from Reynard. "He's gotta be quicker on the draw."

Massacreur is still staring. 

But, at the moment, Reynard is crouched in front of him with his hands out — and out of their riding gloves. "Your name is Massacreur? I see you have let notre meneur name you. Are you also a weapon in his hands?" 

Massacreur blinks — and whuffs. 

"Ah, oui?" And Reynard grins brightly. "This is *good*. All good, right-thinking people give themselves over to notre meneur. Will you sniff me? Or are you still too shocked?"

Massacreur moves close *cautiously* — and sniffs *thoroughly*. 

Sniffs Reynard *everywhere*, as if he'd be able to smell Treville's dog on him despite two weeks' worth of bathing, sweating, fucking other people, and still more bathing. 

Reynard laughs for the examination, twisting and turning, offering himself cheerfully — "Should I have worn more perfume, chiot? Less?" 

Massacreur whuffs and presses his nose to Reynard's scalp — 

"Ah, there is where I wash *least* often, chiot..." 

Massacreur rumbles with pleasure — 

And Reynard looks right at *him* — 

*Burns* at him — 

"Ah, oui? Your witch-brother feels just the same, chiot..." 

Massacreur croons and then snuffles and sniffs *more* at that scalp, that *hair* — 

Treville is only a *little* jealous — 

Kitos laughs hard. "Don't lie, Basset." 

All right, he's a *lot* jealous — 

Massacreur immediately moves to make room for Treville to *also* bury his muzzle in Reynard's wonderful — and wonderfully fragrant — hair. 

"Good *boy*," Treville says, and *lunges* — 

Kitos scruffs him — 

"*Kitos* —" 

Reynard snickers — 

"I'm *very* sorry, Fearless, but —" 

And then Laurent clears his throat from right *there*. In his *Captain* voice.

They all stand to attention at *speed* — 

Except for Massacreur, who is sniffing the backs of Reynard's knees — 

"Hm. Gentlemen. Do we have a new recruit?" 

"In a way, sir," Treville says, and drops his voice. "He's my familiar." 

"Your —" And Laurent raises an eyebrow at Treville. "You were quite clear about how you would not have one of those, Treville." 

Treville winces. "The ah... the All-Mother was clearer. Sir." 

Laurent blinks. "The — the goddess chose for you." 

"Yes, sir."

Laurent takes a deep breath, nods once, and then turns to Massacreur, who is focused on *one* spot high on the outside of Reynard's left thigh. He clears his throat again. 

*Massacreur* blinks, and turns to Laurent curiously — 

Laurent looks at *him* again — "You named him — never mind." The blood between *them* was telling its own tales. Laurent turns back to Massacreur. "Massacreur, my name is Laurent d'Achille de la Fère, and I am the Captain of the King's Musketeers, and these men's superior officer. I am also their — and your — pack-brother. If you need anything, simply ask," Laurent says, and offers his hard, bare hand. 

Massacreur sniffs Laurent's hand thoroughly, sneezes for the perfume on his wrist — 

"I apologize for that, Massacreur. I'll use less of that one." 

Massacreur whuffs and licks his fingertips. 

"Thank you very much," Laurent says, and strokes the top of Massacreur's head. "Will you be joining Treville on his mission this morning?" 

Massacreur whuffs again and wags. 

"You truly have the stamina for that?"

This time, Massacreur's whuff is somewhat insulted. 

Laurent hides a smile behind his hand as he stands straight. "My mistake. In that case, there's been a slight change in your mission's parameters, men."

They all focus right and proper for that, including Massacreur.


	4. Why don't we cuddle in the road?

As it happens, the Spanish spies *their* spies got wind of are meeting some ten miles east of where the original intelligence had suggested, in a much smaller town. 

That's going to make things a lot more conspicuous, but Laurent had said they were pulling the agent who'd gotten them that information out soon, so — 

So. 

Treville is not looking forward to a future of being a spymaster — not by *any* stretch of the imagination. 

Massacreur croons in his *mind* — he's saving his breath, just like the horses — 

"Laurent's made it clear that he wants me for his successor, pup." 

"That he has," Kitos says. 

"Ah, oui — we have tried to talk him out of this, chiot —" 

"We *really* have —" 

"You — what — you *have*?" 

Reynard and Kitos *look* at him. 

"But —" 

"You don't *want* the job, chéri." 

"You'll bloody *hate* it like nothing *else*." 

"Oui, but you'll take it anyway, because it is *Laurent* asking you to do it, and you will *never* say no to anything he asks of you," Reynard says. 

"I — I can't... deny that, but — but brothers, you can't just —" 

"We could and we did," Kitos says, and spits to the side. "Not that it did any good." 

Reynard sighs. "Non, not at all. 

Massacreur croons *aloud* and *extensively* — 

"Aw, no, Butcher, it's not that Laurent doesn't love and respect Fearless —" 

"Oui, notre meneur has *always* been Laurent's special *pet* —"

"But duty comes first for Laurent. Duty is — well, you've met him now, Butcher. What do you think?" 

Massacreur is silent for long moments as he trots beside them. 

And he *keeps* being silent — 

And he *keeps* being — 

"Pup?" 

The whuff is quiet and low and — unmistakable, at least to him. 

The others — 

"What?"

"I couldn't catch —" 

"It um..." Treville looks at Massacreur. "Do you want to keep that just between us for now?" 

Another long silence — but then Massacreur whuffs again, quiet and subdued and — 

"He says I can share." 

"Oui, what was it?"

"He says... he says Laurent reminds him of his father," Treville says. 

Reynard and Kitos blink at him. 

Kitos recovers first. "He... knew his Dad? Like... when he was a smaller pup —" 

Massacreur snarls, making Éventreur and Joséphine dance out of range a little. Hestia doesn't change her pace one iota — 

And the message is clear. 

"All right, chiot, we do not have to talk about that if you do not want to," Reynard says, getting his Joséphine under control while Treville works on Éventreur. 

And Massacreur is a *roil* of emotion ahead of them — 

*Far* ahead of them — 

He's angry-sad-bitter-hurt-*grieving* —

What had *happened* to him?

How can Treville *fix* it? 

(In my experience, amant, the first method to try when there is a problem between witch and familiar is closing the *distance*.) 

But he *chose* the distance — 

(Is he in the best state of mind to make choices for himself?) 

I — right. Treville calls the all-stop, dismounts, and jogs up to join Massacreur, who gives him a *hotly* stony silence — and keeps trotting. 

"I know we've given you a lot to deal with these past few days —" 

Massacreur snaps at him — 

"And I *know* you're not *weak*. I never said that and I never would, pup." 

Another snap. 

"No, you're not a child. But you *are* still a pup. Undeniably so. I'm a little older — and so's my dog." 

Massacreur whuffs. Belligerently. 

Treville grins a little. "Yes, I *am* saying I know better. I *do* know better — a little. Mostly because I've been lucky enough to be able to surround myself with a pack full of good, wise people —" 

Another belligerent whuff. Which... 

"I think they'd be wise whether or not they were human, pup. The All-Mother has suggested that Reynard, especially, might be happier if he were a dog —" 

Massacreur croons, seemingly despite himself — 

"Well, I've asked him, and he said no. He seems to think he'd have worse luck making time with all the fine ladies of Paris if he had to talk to them in croons and barks and growls." 

Massacreur lolls his tongue in helpless laughter — 

"See? *I* told him that half the fine ladies *I* knew would like him *better* that way." 

Massacreur *coughs* — and laughs more. 

Treville grins — 

And Massacreur stops running and sits, right in the road, letting Treville drop down into a crouch and stroke and pet him. 

"There's a boy. You're such a wonderful dog," Treville says, and licks his nose. "You can tell me what subjects to avoid, you know." 

A soft whuff.

"I won't stop talking to you. *We* won't stop talking to you." 

Another whuff —

"I know it's hard, I know — you've been alone?"

Massacreur whuffs again.

Treville caresses Massacreur's ears, his silky cheeks — "Dogs shouldn't be alone. I used to try to be alone..." He shakes his head. "We won't let each other be alone. How's that?" 

Massacreur looks at him intently... and then cocks his head to the side.

"We'll take care of each other, just like we should," Treville says, and scratches at his strong neck. "We'll *help* each other take care of each other." 

Another croon. 

"Well, I'll tell you what I need when I'm feeling low — when you can't figure it out for yourself, smart pup that you are — and you do the same for me —" 

Another *emphatic* whuff — 

"Always more talking? It was too quiet? I *promise* it'll *never* be too quiet with us. If it ever is, we'll just cuddle up with Kitos while he snores the house down, and, when he wakes up, he'll talk our ears off. And then we'll drag Reynard out from under the skirts of whomever he's tumbled, and make him tell us all about it —" 

Massacreur yips — 

"Are you *shy*? That won't last, pup. I *promise*. Where was I? Oh, yes, education via Reynard. And we'll all invade Laurent's office — he's there to all hours of the day and night — and make him lecture us. His lectures are bloody wonderful. You'll learn everything you need to know about military history and tactics in a fortnight." 

Massacreur wags for that — 

Yips *brightly* — 

Wags *more* — 

"Oh, you *like* that? Well, that's odd, but I'll take it. And, after Kitos and Reynard leave to go a-whoring, and it just the two of us and Laurent, Laurent will lecture us about his *wife*." 

Another croon — 

"That will be the most detailed and *exacting* filth you have ever heard in your *life*, pup, because I'm reasonably sure that Laurent wants me to fuck her —" 

(He *does*.) 

"Well, you heard Jason." 

This croon is somewhat aggrieved, and — 

"Well, how do you know you're not just as crazy as the rest of us, pup?" 

Massacreur stares at him. 

Treville decides to carry on. "And then we'll go back to the manor, where, if we've been very good, Jason will be waiting for us —" 

(Oh, probably.) 

Treville grins, knowing it makes him look somewhat maniacal and not caring a *bit* — 

(Oh, amant... and Massacreur. There will be no end to our conversation, save for the ends which *you* choose.) 

Massacreur pants for long moments — and then croons, low and mournful. 

It's clear enough, after everything else, and — Treville can't. He wraps his arms around Massacreur and holds him. Not too tight, but firm. "I know you don't want to choose to end any conversation, pup. I know. But I also know that you're not *ready* for some conversations —" 

Massacreur whines — 

Treville squeezes just a little tighter. "We'll still be here when you are. All of us will. I promise." 

Massacreur whines *more* — 

(He can make that promise, Massacreur,) Jason says. (He has a great deal of *my* vitality — my *immortality* — to work with, thanks to a scale-balancing done when you were barely a thought in your dam's mind. And so does our *pack*.) 

And that... stills Massacreur. 

And makes him tug himself back and away — 

He stares at Treville — *into* Treville, studying and needy. 

It was death that took *his* pack away, then. It couldn't have been anything else. 

Massacreur whuffs again, and croons low. 

His father had taken care of him as long as he could, but then a sickness had taken him. 

Treville strokes him, wanting him to feel just as good as he does when he does. "That won't happen to me, pup. I'm with you for the long haul. I'll take care of you." 

Massacreur *barks* — 

And Treville grins. "And you'll take care of me. Just the way it should be," he says, and licks Massacreur's nose — 

And Massacreur licks his face slowly and almost *thoughtfully*. *Thoroughly*, but — 

He's still not very doggish about it, and Treville can't help thinking that there's something *to* that, or *about* that, or — 

"All right, lads?" And Kitos is holding the still-chastened Éventreur's reins. 

Reynard is studying them closely. 

*Both* of them are ready to dismount and add to the cuddling in the middle of the road, mission be damned. But — 

Massacreur pulls back after one last long, slow, thoughtful lap.

Treville scratches his ears. "I think we're good." 

Massacreur wags. 

They ride — and run.


	5. When this is his job, the chaos will be organized.

Small towns are always quiet. 

This small town is *deathly*. There's no one shopping in the open-air market, the vendors look terrified — 

And their guns are out, and the only question is which way they need to aim and which way they need to go to duck for *cover*. 

The melon vendor — bless him — cuts his eyes to the northwest just as Treville's giving him a *hard* look. 

The laundry. Right where all the strong scents will fuck with his — and Massacreur's — senses.

And the public house.

That... is a lot of potential enemies — and *their* horses are fresh, so running isn't the best plan, *either*. 

So. 

Time for *Jason's* shot. 

(You *do* love me.) 

Best of all, lover, Treville says, reloading at speed and waving off Kitos and Reynard when they move to do the same — they'll need the control of the standard-issue shot.

Once he's got his pistol and arquebusier loaded, he shoots into the open doors of the laundry and pub. 

The vendors look at him like he's mad. 

Kitos and Reynard grin.

And then the screaming starts. 

Loud, heartfelt, bloodcurdling — 

Black, shadow-flame creeps up the walls of the buildings — 

And men start running out, headlong and howling — and bleeding, here and there — from where the flames had caught them. 

They pick off the first several easily. 

But there are a lot more, and the Spaniards are hard men, blooded enough to take a little eldritch horror and come back fighting when they have to — 

(Inconvenient, that. Do you need assistance?) 

Possibly, Treville says, signaling the fall-back and burying a throwing-knife in a man's throat while Massacreur hamstrings another.

Good boy. 

Eventually, they're in the woods and fighting for their lives. There was no word of an incursion force — there never bloody *is*, and when this is *his* job — 

But first he has to live through this, and bring his *men* through this — 

Bury a blade in a man's throat — 

Don't think about the fact that the fuzz on his cheeks marked him as truly a boy, just a boy — 

And that howl is the sound of Reynard stabbing a man in the bollocks — 

He *always* does that if he can — 

That gurgle means he'd just taken the man's throat — 

And hopefully now he has time to reload his twin pistols. 

Kitos is a silent mass somewhere to his north, using a childhood spent poaching to bring down Spaniards who must sound like bloody bulls crashing around a china shop to *him* — 

And Massacreur is at his back, watching and waiting and — springing, knocking the pistol out of the Spaniard's hand and then gutting him — 

The screams are — 

And there's nothing quite like the sensation of being stabbed. 

(AMANT —) 

The pull of it, the feeling of being torn, un-knit, un*made* — 

There's no time to even grunt, no time to be *careful* — 

Treville spins and uses his last blade to take the bastard he hadn't seen in the eye, twisting once and *yanking* — 

That's brain matter on his hand — 

He can't hold in a sound when the man pulls on his *own* blade as he falls — it stays in. 

It stays in. 

Treville uses his power to knit himself *around* the blade, to check — no organ wounds, no — 

He can keep going, keep moving, shush Massacreur's whines, he's fine for now, he is, he *is*, and they have to get these bastards, they have to — 

Massacreur *runs* from his side — 

And there's a shriek followed by pained and terrified sobbing — 

Followed by silence —

Followed by — pained — cursing in Spanish and *then* a shriek — 

And then silence — 

The crack of one of Reynard's pistols — 

A series of thudding *grunts* and sobs that can only be Kitos *beating* someone to death — 

And then everything is quiet for a long, long, time. 

At first it's just suspicious — the way it always is after a battle, when all you can do is wait for the next blow, the next nasty *shock*. 

But then Massacreur trots up to him with a saddlebag in his gore-streaked mouth that's just bursting with important-looking papers — slightly blood-stained and charred with eldritch flame, but still — and his brothers — including Jason, who is armed and armoured — are right behind him. 

"Oh, thank fuck," Treville says, and grins — 

Reynard and Kitos grin right back at him — Reynard looks like he's been rolled *through* a swamp, but they're both well — 

"I've already healed both of them," Jason says, turning him to look at the stab-wound — 

"Dieu — meneur, there is a *knife* sticking out of you!" 

"I'd noticed —" 

"Don't joke, amant —" 

"Lover, I have to at this point. I *hurt*." 

Jason frowns at him — and nods. "Your own healing will treat you better than mine will. Are you ready *to* heal yourself if I remove the blade?" 

Treville winces — 

"If you're not, I *can* heal you —" 

"No, fuck, no, it's all right. I don't need all your mothers bludgeoning me again," Treville says, focusing himself — 

And finding Massacreur right there waiting for him, deep inside him where it counts. 

*His* focus is perfect, pure, *ready* — and shoring up Treville's own. 

Familiar. 

Pack-brother. 

Treville reaches for Massacreur shamelessly and nods to Jason — 

The knife is a *frigid* burn as it leaves him — 

As it *un-knits* him *again* — and he can't focus on that. He can't — 

He *pulls* on Massacreur — 

He holds him tight and — 

And *together* they ask the Mother for Her favour. There's something strange about Massacreur's voice for that — 

About the way he uses his voice? 

About — 

But then he's healed, and collapsing in Jason's strong arms — 

And there's a tall, lean, dark, naked boy where Massacreur had been. He — 

He's staring at his big, puppyish hands as if he'd never seen them before — 

His long, richly-dark, silky-looking hair hangs halfway down his *back* — 

He's *ignoring* the weapons pointed at him — 

He's grinning from ear to *ear* —

And then he turns his beautiful dark eyes on Treville. "You did it. You *did* take care of me."

And Treville is aware of a lot of questions being asked around him, and he *would* like to join in the asking of them, but mostly he would like to —

Black.


	6. I'm always a person to you.

(So, my name is actually d'Artagnan, not Butcher, first off.) 

Treville blinks and — 

And becomes aware that he's not actually blinking, or waking up, or doing anything remotely like that. 

He's — in a dream-space, and so is everything around him. The bed, the room — homey, but comfortable — the boy talking to him...

He's unconscious.

(Yeah, you are,) d'Artagnan says. (You got hurt *really* badly, Jason says. Not that I couldn't tell for myself by the way there was a giant bloody knife sticking out of you.) 

Treville turns his head again and makes himself actually *focus* — and there's the beautiful boy with Massacreur's eyes. The beautiful boy who, somehow, *is* Massacreur. 

Now that he isn't in the *process* of passing out, he can see a bit more detail. The honestly dark skin; the broad, soft mouth, the long lashes. Broad shoulders — covered now, someone's found some clothes for him that *mostly* fit, but still. The hands — puppyish, yes, but obviously strong and well-worked. Those are trigger- and hilt-calluses to go along with the rest. 

Not to mention the fact that the boy — and he is a boy; he can't be older than sixteen or so — is nearly as tall as Treville is, taking up a goodly amount of the dream-bed they're on.

And — Treville can talk as well as stare. What... He tries again. How — how did this...

d'Artagnan smiles wryly. (I already explained this to Jason and the others, but — Jason pointed out that I didn't have to wait for you to wake up to tell you. That we were still connected, even though I was never a *real* dog.) 

Treville *blinks* — But. 

(Or... maybe? You pick up a few habits when dogs are the only people who'll really talk to you.) 

Treville raises an eyebrow. 

(*Look*. I was *born* human. I had a mother and a Dad, and there were farms on our land, and we all worked very hard —) d'Artagnan winces and looks down. 

Treville reaches out and cups one of those shoulders. It's all right, pup, we don't have to —

(Oh — God —) 

— talk about — 

(You just called me *pup* again!) And d'Artagnan looks at him — 

Somehow manages to *glare* at him while bright-eyed and *smiling* — 

He — 

I... can stop? 

d'Artagnan snorts. (I bloody hope so,) he says, and pushes a hand back through his hair. It's shorter than it was when Treville was passing out — only to his shoulders — but still long. 

It's just as beautiful — 

(So um. I'm getting that you like boys...) 

Oh, hell. It's not something you ever have to be *concerned* about — 

d'Artagnan grins at him. (I was starting to wonder if you liked *dogs*, Treville.) 

Treville coughs — I. 

(*Do* you?) 

Part of me *is* a dog, pup — 

(Oh, God —) 

Fuck, sorry — 

(No, no, wait. Wait,) d'Artagnan says, laughing and turning more onto his side to face Treville. 

I'm — I'm waiting. And I am sorry — 

(Wait,) d'Artagnan says. 

Treville bites his lip and nods. 

(You didn't — you're always talking to a person when you call me 'pup' —) 

Of bloody *course* — 

(Just like — just like Kitos is always talking to a person when he calls me 'Butcher', and Reynard is always talking to — to a really *sexy* person when he calls me 'chiot'.) 

Treville coughs again — and laughs. Reynard really likes dogs, he says, and grins. 

d'Artagnan snorts. (I'll disappoint him. I was only —) He shakes his head. (I was *human*. I had hunting dogs, you know, like you probably did — or. Wait. You were always... a shifter. Right?) 

Treville offers his own wry smile. I wasn't, no. For most of my life, I was a weak enough witch that I didn't even know I *was* one.

d'Artagnan blinks. (But...)

It's a long story, and I promise I'll tell you everything if you'd like to know, but... I'd like to know more about you, first, if you can tell me.

(But wait, is it — did another witch *turn* you into a shifter?) 

Well... yes — three — 

(Against your will! And — and the curse was so *strong*. I was a — a bloody *puppy*. For — I don't *know* how long. I couldn't *think*. I couldn't *focus*. I remember... my Dad had to take care of me, and — and clean up my *messes*. He was so bloody *patient*. But he couldn't do any of the things he was supposed to do. Or — some. He could do some. But he couldn't travel. How could he trust anyone to take care of his puppy of a son? How could he trust anyone not to just leave me in a barn?) 

Oh... shit. What — who was the witch? What — I'll track them down and — 

(She already apologized,) d'Artagnan says. (One of the times I could focus. It was — it was one of my friends. Not a good friend, but, you know, small village...) He shakes his head again. (He'd stolen from her cart while she was sleeping, and he'd been wearing one of my cloaks while he did it — I'd let him borrow it —) 

And that's how the witch tracked you down. She wasn't cautious enough — Treville growls. Where *is* she. 

(She um. I'm pretty sure the All-Mother already took care of what *you* want to do, Treville,) d'Artagnan says, and smiles ruefully. (I mean, she was really shaken-up and um. Chastened. Hurting. *Crying*. She looked like she was *dying* when she — fixed her mistake. Fixed it as much as she *could*, anyway.) 

And that was by — making you a shifter who couldn't *shift*? What kind of fixing is *that*? 

(The original curse was to keep me a dog — a *puppy* — until I *died*. And not a puppy like your Massacreur, either. One that didn't *grow*.) 

*Shit* — 

(Yeah. She managed to fix it enough that I could age again — if slowly — and that I *was* a shifter... if I could find someone who could, you know, bring it out of me.) 

If you became someone's familiar, you mean, Treville says, and frowns, and reaches for d'Artagnan — 

(I'm all right —) 

And you don't want to be touched?

(I...) d'Artagnan looks down. (I don't know, actually.) 

If you want to be touched? 

(If... I don't know... a lot of things. I don't. I was raised in the *Church*. Do you have any idea how *weird* it was to meet — and talk to! — a *goddess*?) And d'Artagnan looks up again, searches him — 

Treville grins and lets his hand drop. I have some idea... 

(Oh — yeah. You — but what happened to *you*? What — did you hurt the witch who changed you?) 

Not at all, pup. I *asked* for this, Treville says, and smiles softly. 

(But...) 

It... it really is — 

(A long story, you said, but — you can give me the short version?) 

All right. I can try, Treville says, and sighs, rolling onto his back. The short version is... I did it for love. 

(You loved... a witch?) 

Yes. Amina was... she was my sister. She was my heart. But she wasn't very powerful, either. She was the beloved adopted child of *three* powerful witches, though, and one of them foretold a great danger to both Amina and the child in her belly if she didn't have a protector who was strong and skilled both physically and magically. 

They couldn't find anyone like that, but... there was me. Treville turns his head to smile ruefully at d'Artagnan again. I volunteered in an eyeblink. 

(The child... the child was yours?) 

Not at first. Amina was a former slave — 

(*Oh* — but how — you're a *noble* —) 

Treville gestures for peace. I am. Kitos and Reynard met her first. She was working in a teahouse not far from one of the brothels they liked — and they both liked *her*. They invited me to the teahouse with them one night in a truly odd attempt to make themselves look better to her... Treville grins. I loved her laugh. I loved her *jokes*. I loved the way she *played* with me — with all of us, really. I loved... oh. Everything about her. We went home together, and talked about how stupid men were — including me, for not telling Kitos and Reynard how I felt about them. 

We weren't together, then, you see. And she could tell right away that I wanted it... more than anything. 

(But... you still wanted her?) 

Not that way. I wasn't built that way, back then. 

(But you are *now*? How does that — that doesn't make any *sense* —) 

Treville laughs, low and dirty. (Sometimes it still confuses the parts of me that do the thinking... but not the parts that do the fucking, pup.) 

d'Artagnan stares at him for a long moment — 

Blinks — 

(Um...) 

Yes?

(So — when you say Amina's child wasn't yours at *first*...) 

Treville nods. Another noble — one decidedly not worth the name — happened to see her one day and snatched her up. Belgard. Treville squeezes his eyes shut. We all thought he was just another weak, pathetic, overbred fool...

He shakes his head. He got her pregnant, and didn't put her aside, and Ife — the youngest of Amina's guardians — had her prophecy. They augmented my powers, and turned me into this. Part of doing that was having me share blood, piss, spend, tears, sweat, and milk with my Amina-love. Until we were part of each other. Until we were *kin*. Until... until she and her babe were more my wife and child than any wife and child could be to any husband and father, really.

(Oh...) 

In the process, I stopped being a *hopeless* buggerer, and I started... my Amina-love... everything about her was what I *craved*, pup. Especially when she growled or snapped at me instead of just fussing. 

(They made you *both* dogs?) 

It was the only way the magic could work. We were too weak for it, otherwise. We were both naturally *aligned* with the canine, both earth-mages — though weak ones — and using that alignment to further connect us to canine... spirits, I suppose, was the only thing that could make it work. I'm sorry; Jason can explain this part better. 

(All right...) 

In any event, my shift was more complete, since I was the protector, and she had to stay in one form to carry the babe. She was... vulnerable. And Treville growls, because — 

(Treville?) 

She was vulnerable for more than one reason. We were supposed to consummate our marriage. We were supposed to — we didn't. 

(Oh.) And d'Artagnan winces. (She didn't... want... you?) 

She didn't want the man who she *knew* was just a buggerer, who she *knew* wanted nothing to do with what was between her legs, who she'd spent hours with night after night after night telling filthy jokes with *about* buggery — ah, fuck. And Treville pinches the bridge of his nose and turns away again. 

(It was... too much for her. Too soon.) 

I... 

(You must've seemed like... a whole new person?) 

With the face and body of her closest friend. And the man she'd gotten accustomed to loving hopelessly, Treville says, and scrubs his face. Even in the dream-space, the tears fall. We. We were going to wait. Get to know each other again. Treville smiles painfully. We didn't have the time for that. 

d'Artagnan reaches out and rests one big hand on Treville's chest. It's warm, and heavy, and —

And, even like this, it makes Treville feel better. 

Warmer and closer and — 

(Yeah, I... I feel better, too...) 

Oh, pup... I'm so sorry this happened to you... 

(Don't — don't be sorry for *me*. I don't even know what *happened* to your wife and child and I know it must've been terrible —) 

Belgard waited until I'd been sent out of the country on a mission, and then set an assassin after her and the babe — a madman who just happened to have a little magic to him — when his parents threatened to disinherit him over his lingering affair with Amina. He could've set her aside with a little money for her and the babe at *any* time, but... Treville snarls. 

Amina had to fight for her life with the babe in her arms — I found this out after I came back to find my Amina missing, the witches panicked and just — 

Treville snarls again. I was... lost. Hungry. Enraged. *Empty*. 

(Empty?) 

I couldn't *feel* my Amina-love *or* the babe. I could feel that they were both *alive*, but they were hidden from me. Utterly so. They could've been in the next room over or they could've been on the other side of the world. They could've been on a whole different *sphere*. I was missing a part of me. Treville smiles ruefully and squeezes d'Artagnan's hand. I still am. 

(You never found them? You — oh — oh, no —) 

I found her, when she was dead — 

(*No* —) 

That was two years ago, now. Not long before I met Jason. He helped me find out what had happened, how a death-mage had cheated her of her... her *life*, how he'd bound her and *hidden* her and my *son* so none of us could *see* her even if she'd been screaming right in front of our faces. How if she'd *tried* to break the enchantment on her own, my son's life would've been just as forfeit as her own.

He's squeezing d'Artagnan's hand too hard now. 

He's — 

He can't stop. 

He can't — 

I'd already tracked down the assassin and killed him. I'd done for Belgard, too. Messily and. I don't know where my son is. I don't — the irony is that Amina protected him too well. She had to hide him from Guillou — the death-mage — but in the process she kept him hidden from everyone who could... care...

And d'Artagnan croons and throws himself at Treville, clutching more than hugging — 

It shouldn't feel so *good* — 

(Yes it *should*.) 

Treville growls and clutches back —

(Yeah, yeah, do — do *that* —) 

Oh, pup... 

(It's just that my Dad, he couldn't hold me at the end —) 

Fuck — 

(And then the midwife — she was the only one who would care for plague victims — wouldn't let dogs in the sickroom —) 

Oh, *pup* — 

(And I could hear him calling for me so *weakly*, and the midwife was telling him that I'd run off, that I was *gone*, and I can't, I couldn't, I couldn't get in the *room* —) 

Treville growls and clutches him harder, strokes him and licks his face for the tears — 

(And — and then she fell asleep, and I could squeeze in — I'd lost enough weight...) 

My poor pup, go on, tell me...

(He was — he was like a *skeleton* on the bed —) 

Treville growls and strokes him, licks him more — 

(So — so bloody *small*,) d'Artagnan says, and his voice is thick, choked — 

I've got you, pup, I've — 

(He said. He said: 'Son. You came back...' And he smiled so *happily*, and it was *horrible*, because it was so quiet, and I couldn't say that I'd been there the whole time, and I couldn't say anything, and I was just a stupid *puppy* making too much *noise* and the midwife took me away again —) 

Treville snarls and — 

He *must* be hurting d'Artagnan — 

(Please don't let go! Please don't!) 

Treville rolls them and pins d'Artagnan, holds him down, makes it so all he can feel and breathe and see — 

Not that. It's never that at times like these, but — he can try. 

He can lick d'Artagnan's beautiful face and hold him *down* and *try* —

(I miss my Dad...) 

I know, pup. I know. I'll take care of you — 

(And.) 

Mm? 

And d'Artagnan blinks up at him, damp-eyed and hurting so *badly* — 

Tell me, pup. You can — you can tell me anything, everything — 

Instead, d'Artagnan rears up as much as Treville will *let* him — and licks Treville's cheek, slowly and thoughtfully. 

Oh — pup...

(We'll. We'll take care of each other. Right?) 

Treville swallows and squeezes what must be *bruisingly* hard —

It's a good thing they're in the *dream*-space, but — 

Yes. *Yes*. 

And d'Artagnan smiles, watery and bright.


	7. One of the things that soul-bond thing is about.

Treville wakes up uncomfortable, itchy under the skin, lonely — 

Lonely?

"Your familiar was offered a room of his own to sleep in next door," Jason says, from beside him. "He was too polite to say no, though he was chewing his lip nearly bloody trying to find a way to *be* polite about saying no." 

"Damn. *Damn*. Separations are going to be *that* hard on him?" 

Jason looks at him. Pointedly. 

"I'll take your comments about me being an ignorant sod as read, lover," Treville says, sitting up in the lumpy — but nicely firm — bed. "*Educate* me." 

"He's your *familiar* and you were recently *injured*. *Badly* injured. While familiars can tolerate being apart from their witches for extended periods of time, it's *never* optimal, and it's positively horrid when said witches are not in the peak of health." 

Treville winces. And just — "How much of a problem is this going to be for *you*, lover?" 

Jason raises an eyebrow. "There was another person sharing our bedroom when his name was Massacreur. There will be another person sharing our bedroom now that his name is d'Artagnan." 

"That simple?" 

"Was Massacreur less of a person to you than d'Artagnan?" 

"*No* —" 

"You certainly had no problem having conversations with him —" 

"Of bloody course not —" 

"*Interrupting* conversations with *me* to have conversations with him —" 

"I —" 

"Letting him tame your frankly *evil* horse for the first time since you got the bloody-minded thing — and you *know* how I feel about horses —" 

"That's the first non-complimentary thing I've ever heard you *say* about a horse —" 

"Every time I *see* Éventreur I check to make *absolutely* sure he's not a demon, amant, but that's neither here nor there —" 

"All *right*, I take your points —" 

"Do you? A familiar is a *familiar*, mon amant. Whether they walk on two legs, four, or... well. No matter how many legs they walk on." 

Treville blinks. "There are some frankly horrible images in my mind now." 

"I *am* sorry about that, but it's necessary." 

Treville growls and kisses Jason, hard and a little bloody-minded himself — 

Jason laughs and kisses him back — 

Kisses him down to the bed — 

Laughs into his mouth hard enough to *break* the kiss — 

"Mm?" 

Jason grins and pulls back. "How long did you intend to pretend that *sleeping* arrangements were the only concern?" 

Treville blushes. "I... right." 

"Yes...?" 

"Jason —" 

"What did we say about you letting *ruefulness* hold you back from what you need — and what this *pack* needs?" 

"No, I know exactly what you're saying —" 

Jason bites his lip — 

"Ow —" 

"But...?" 

"This feels... a little more inappropriate." 

Jason blinks at him. 

"*What*? It *does*. He's my *familiar*." 

"*Yes*, he's your *familiar*, and — are you quite sure you know what the word 'inappropriate' means, amant?"

"Kindly bugger a badger, but —" 

"But you think you should be better-*behaved* around d'Artagnan than you would be around any other boy who was literally bound to your *soul* and felt *pleasure* every time you touched him." 

"I. Hm." 

Jason laughs richly. "Yes, do think about it." 

"I..." Treville winces again. 

"Oh, what *is* it?" 

"I'd like to be someone he can... come to with his problems. Like the boys at the garrison." 

Jason blinks — "You've made those boys off-limits to your baser urges for quite some time now." 

"*Yes*." 

"You've wanted..." Jason frowns. "You do realize that you *can* have both, don't you?" 

"I... never have." 

"Oh, amant..." Jason leans in to nip his chin. "I honestly believe you're *going* to *soon*, so... best be prepared." 

"How do you prepare for *that*?" 

"Well, hmm..." And Jason seems to be putting honest thought into the question, so Treville gives him time to do it. 

And — 

Opens himself to his power — 

Focuses — 

d'Artagnan wakes out of his — fitful; Treville can tell — sleep immediately. (Treville? Are you —) 

I'm all right. Healed-up perfectly, just like I should be. I was just checking on you.

(I um. I feel okay *now*,) d'Artagnan says and laughs ruefully. (It's... I honestly thought it would be easier to be apart from you once I was human again.) 

Oh... pup. You're never really going to be human again. 

(No, right, I... right. I have to get used to that, still.) 

It takes time. Don't get down on yourself for needing that time. 

And Treville can feel d'Artagnan smiling, warm and small. (All right. Are you just... up?) 

And Treville thinks there are other questions *in* that question, but he can't quite tell what they are — 

(I strongly suspect, amant, that he's asking you if he can come here,) Jason says, from behind a privacy wall. 

Treville blinks — and raises an eyebrow at Jason. 

And Jason bows and smiles. 

(Treville? Are you... are you busy?) 

Jason and I are talking, Treville says. I'd like it if you came back here, though. 

(Oh. But —) 

We'll both sleep better, pup. Come on, Treville says, and feels himself heating, wanting — no. 

*No* — 

(I feel... so much better when I'm with you. I think. I think I was waiting for you before I even met you,) d'Artagnan says, and Treville can feel him moving, gathering his borrowed clothes, neatening his borrowed bed — 

I was always told... that that was how it worked with any sort of bond between souls, pup. 

(And. And that's what we have.) 

It is. 

And there's silence from d'Artagnan for long moments — 

"While I have your attention," Jason says, "let me just say this." 

"I'm listening. Always." 

"He's *going* to give himself to you. *Tonight*, if I leave —" 

"Oh, fuck, don't —" 

"Shh. Don't be anyone but yourself, amant. You know precisely how to do *this*." 

"I *don't*. You *know* I don't —" 

"He's going to give himself to you not solely because of the bond working between the two of you, but because of everything you've *shown* him about who you are, both when he was Massacreur and now. You've proven yourself to be someone *worthy* of the gift of himself — and the part of you which isn't panicking about behaving badly already knew that." 

That — 

He did. He did. 

Treville nods. "But —" 

"But nothing, amant. You also already know precisely the kind of man d'Artagnan *wants* to give himself to, and know that you've proven yourself to be *that* kind of man." 

Treville pants. "A... father..." 

"You've dreamed of this for years. You've dreamed of nothing *more* —" 

"*Fuck* —" 

"Don't hide from your dreams now, mon amant," Jason says, and kisses Treville's ear. "You'll only hurt both of you if you do." 

And that... 

That's nothing but sense, if the terrifying kind. 

Treville sits up in bed with Jason and waits — not long. 

The quiet footsteps are canine, not human, and it's Massacreur who pushes into Treville's borrowed bedroom with a sheepish look on his face before coming up on Treville's side of the bed and wagging apologetically. 

Treville leans in and cups that silky cheek. "Say, now, none of that. You made a little mistake and got stuck?" 

A near-silent whuff. 

"Let's see what we can do about that," Treville says, focusing hard and *reaching* for d'Artagnan — 

For his *pup* — 

And then d'Artagnan's crouched by the side of the bed in human-form, dressed in his borrowed farmboy clothes and panting a little — "Oh — fuck — *thank* you," he says, fervently and quietly. 

Treville strokes his hair. "Anytime. You'll get the trick of this, I promise." 

"I was just — I was just thinking that I wanted to move more *subtly*, that I'd forgotten *how* to do that as a human, and then —" 

"Then you were a dog," Treville says, and smiles wryly. "It happens. You have to put yourself on a *strong* lead when you're learning these things, pup." 

"I um — right." And d'Artagnan smiles at both of them ruefully. "Hey. And hey, Jason. Thank you for telling me how to talk to Treville earlier, when he was still unconscious. That really helped." 

Jason smiles gently back. "I thought it might." 

"Because of the — the soul-bond?" 

"Just so, d'Artagnan. As I was telling mon amant earlier, there are few problems between witches and their familiars that can't be solved by a greater degree of... togetherness."

d'Artagnan bites his lip and nods thoughtfully, still crouched by the side of the bed. 

Treville strokes his hair again. "Are you comfortable?" 

"Mm? Yeah, I'm all right. Better than I was in that whole other *house*."

Jason laughs meanly. "You could've said *no*, d'Artagnan." 

"And explain that I wanted to cuddle up with the unconscious grown man for no particular reason at all? Definitely not because I'm his *familiar*." 

Jason laughs harder. "You might have just said you were his *nephew*." 

d'Artagnan blinks adorably.

Treville cups his cheek. "Perhaps you've gotten accustomed to having — *needing* — only a dog's excuses for being close to people?" 

"Oh — *that*," d'Artagnan says, and nods. "I've been — I don't even *know* how long I spent as a dog. Dogs aren't *good* at measuring time." 

"They absolutely aren't, pup —" 

"It's just — I can't even tell by how I look, you know? I know I was... slowed down. I was fifteen when I was cursed, but I don't look so different now, and I remember my father *aging*." 

Treville looks to Jason — 

And Jason frowns thoughtfully. 

d'Artagnan looks back and forth between them. "Jason is better at figuring this kind of thing out than you are?" 

"Jason is better at a *lot* of things, pup," Treville says, and laughs. 

"I've had six hundred years to practice, mon amant. You'll catch up," Jason says, and smiles at Treville — 

So warmly — 

Treville leans in and licks him and licks him and — 

Jason laughs a little breathlessly — "You *earth*-mages —" 

"You love it," Treville says, and licks a path to Jason's ear, tickling with a half-shifted tongue — 

Jason snorts and swats him — 

Treville catches his hand and licks that — 

And Jason leaves him to it and turns to d'Artagnan. "I frankly cannot tell how old you truly are, d'Artagnan. The witch who cursed you mucked about with the fundamental course of *nature* when she was mucking about with *you*. The expenditure of power must have been *phenomenal*." He frowns. "But. There are some hints." 

"What hints? What — what can you *tell* me?" 

"Well, you told mon amant that the midwife was the only one who would work with 'plague victims'." 

"Yeah? What about it?" 

Jason raises an eyebrow. "To the best of my knowledge, there hasn't *been* a serious plague in this part of the world for the better part of a generation, d'Artagnan." 

Treville stops licking and — "Fuck. What can you tell us about the sickness that took your father, pup?" 

"He — he lost a lot of weight, like I said. And his voice — it was just a rasp. And his skin was all — all papery and hot. It was *terrible*. But are you saying I've been a dog for fifteen *years*?" 

Treville winces. "No, pup. We're saying you've been a dog for closer to twenty."

d'Artagnan opens his mouth — and closes it again. 

"And. And however long *before* the plague, when my Dad was just — just *aging* — I —"

d'Artagnan whines — 

Treville moves off the bed and crouches in front of him, petting and holding, kneeling down and *clutching* — 

"I — I —" 

"Shh, pup, shh —" 

"*Treville* —" 

"I've got you, just hold me right back —" 

"I — I can't —" 

"You *can*." 

And d'Artagnan barks and clutches him, letting Treville hold his hot face against his throat — 

Letting Treville pet him, hold him, *hold* him — 

Rock him in his arms and let him whine and sob and — 

Oh, his poor pup, his poor pup — 

"I'll take *care* of you," Treville says — growls, really, but it's important, it's so *important* — 

d'Artagnan holds him *tight* — 

"He truly will, d'Artagnan," Jason says, and he's using the low and slow voice, the *soothing* voice. "Just as you will take care of him." 

d'Artagnan whines *loudly* — 

"Jason —" 

"Wait, amant," Jason says, and moves to their side of the bed, crouching next to them and cupping d'Artagnan's broad, tense shoulder. Squeezing it. "Listen, d'Artagnan: Yes, your humanity was stolen from you. Yes, your life as you would've *had* it was stolen from you. But you were also given a gift. You are stronger, faster, and more generally powerful than the vast majority of boys your apparent age and size, and you know how to war as a man *and* as a dog. You'll be able to best your enemies in *multiple* ways, and thus be able to protect your *loved* ones in multiple ways. The paths of power open to you now are myriad and *can* be perfectly wonderful — if you choose to take them, and if you choose to take them *wisely*. 

"When I was not much older than you are now, I was faced with knowledge not *very* different than what you're facing now. Faced with the *fact* that something very dear and precious had been stolen from me. That my *humanity* was *dust* in my *past*.

"I responded to that knowledge with a brutally pointless quest to *regain* what I'd lost — and I hurt myself and many, many, *many* other people with that quest. Dogs aren't good at telling time, but even they know that trying to relive the past — or worse, *change* the past — is *worse* than pointless. I... do you understand?" 

d'Artagnan's breathing hitches — 

For a moment he burrows harder against Treville's *throat* — 

"Pup..." 

And then he *yanks* himself back — "How would I even — of bloody *course* I understand! There's no way back! There's nothing *for* me! My friends are... who knows where they are, or if they'd even *know* me if I showed up on their doorsteps. They're all bloody *adults*. Even *I* know that I can't — can't even *think* like an adult. That I'm not — that I'm a bloody *puppy*." 

Treville strokes him, pets him — 

d'Artagnan moans and croons and sniffles — and then scrubs at his face with one hand. The other's still clutching at Treville. "I won't do anything bloody *stupid*. I won't — I don't even know *how* to do anything —" He sniffles again and looks at Jason. "Did you try? To go back to the past? Before whatever happened to you had happened?"

"Of course. *Multiple* times. No matter how many times my power was drained in the fruitless attempts. No matter how many times I wound up on different spheres, mucking up the lives of other Jasons who'd never asked for *my* interference. No matter how many times I caused *damage*. I still tried," Jason says, and smiles wryly. "I've spent the last four hundred and fifty years or so making amends for what I did with my life for —"

"The first century and a *half*?" 

Jason shrugs. "I'm a slow learner, at times." 

Treville coughs a laugh and pulls d'Artagnan back in. 

"Oh — fuck. Yeah, please, please just —" 

"Take the *bed*," Jason says, standing and glamouring himself dressed. 

"What — what? Where are you going?" 

"That's my question, too, lover," Treville says, doing his best to pin Jason with a *look*. 

"I have studying to do for a certain project — and I am *blatantly* leaving the two of you alone so that you can spend more time getting to know each other and comforting each other. You *don't* have to do anything else," Jason says, and a smoky-charcoal smudge opens on the air behind him.

"Um. What?" 

"But you can," Jason says, stepping back and away and leaving some of his laughter behind. 

"Right, so that's really *creepy*." 

Treville laughs ruefully. "You get used to it," he says, and licks away d'Artagnan's tears. 

"Oh — do you?" 

"Mm-hm." 

"And you've been lovers for the whole time you've known each other?" 

"Since the very first day," Treville says, following a salt track to the corner of d'Artagnan's eye. It makes his tongue curl. 

"Do you usually... move that fast?" 

And that... Treville lifts his nose — 

"Fuck, you're so much more of an animal than I am —" 

"Probably, yes. You're nervous, though. What do you need?" 

d'Artagnan looks at him — intently. And Treville gets it, he thinks. 

"I want you, pup, but I'll never force you into anything. Nothing unless *you* choose it. Nothing unless you *want* it." 

"And if I don't know? What I want." 

"Then we wait until you do know, no matter what." 

d'Artagnan looks down. "It wasn't like that — before." 

Treville starts to lift his nose again — but. "How do you mean, pup?" 

"When we were... my friends and I. When we were all... playing around before. You know, with sex. It was always really *urgent*." 

Treville... breathes a sigh of relief. And cups d'Artagnan's chin and tilts his face back up. "These things often are urgent when we're younger." 

d'Artagnan bites his lip. "I feel... I want you to touch me." 

"I'll hold you. We can hold each other all night —" 

"I feel... all the years. All the." d'Artagnan swallows and searches him. "I never had sex with any dogs, Treville." 

"I imagine you didn't," Treville says, and smiles wryly. 

"I never — I don't. I know that the grief is making things... quieter in me. I know that if you were to..." And d'Artagnan leans in, slow and steady and a kind of relentless — 

"Pup. Pup, don't —" 

"Please," d'Artagnan says, closing his eyes and pressing his lips to Treville's, softly and — 

And then he *licks* — 

Licks slow and wet and — 

Treville *growls* and licks his *tongue* — 

"Oh."

"Pup..." 

d'Artagnan opens his eyes, panting and smiling. "That — felt right. That felt familiar and — I'm getting hard." 

Treville laughs and strokes d'Artagnan's face with both hands, pushes his hands into that silky hair — 

"Oh — I'm getting harder," he says, and they laugh together. 

"My beautiful pup..." 

"You could... tell me what you like with boys? Get me used to it?" 

"I don't want you feeling like you have to do something just *because* I like it, pup," Treville says, and massages d'Artagnan's scalp a little — 

"I um. I — what?" 

They laugh together more. They — Treville rumbles and keeps massaging. "Good boy. Let me take care of you, mm?" 

"I *want* you to take care of my *cock*, Treville —" 

"Do you? Or do you want to take care of *me*." 

"*Both*. Like — like we're supposed to," d'Artagnan says, and reaches up to tug Treville's hands away from his scalp — 

Gives Treville a *wounded* look — 

"You have to *let* me." 

Treville — breathes. "You're right. I do. Here's what I want — are you listening?" 

"*Yes*." 

"The two of us, in that bed —" 

d'Artagnan gets up and strips down immediately, a little awkward with the laces, like maybe he's still remembering how they work, but otherwise fine. 

Treville gives up on *almost* everything, strips off his breeches, crawls in, and makes room.

d'Artagnan doesn't make him wait, crawling in beside him and curling round him like about five different snakes with the same wonderful idea. 

There's a strong urge to hold him — *just* hold him — but it isn't the strongest urge by a long road.

He doesn't need Jason to tell him that he's only ever fucked himself up when he's lied to himself about things like that. He needs Jason for... everything else. Everything. 

And he needs d'Artagnan, too.

Treville laughs softly and kisses him slowly, shallowly, carefully — 

"*Mm* —"

"You like that, pup?" 

"No!" 

They snicker like *children* together — "All right, try this," Treville says, and kisses him *rudely*, deep and a little harsh, deep and a little *wild*, licking in and in and *in* exactly the way he wants to do to that tight little arse — 

(*Really*?) 

— forgetting entirely for a moment that d'Artagnan can *hear* him — 

They snicker *more* — 

And then Treville rolls d'Artagnan under him and kisses him hard, kisses him wet, licks him and *licks* him —

(But — but — my *arse*?) 

I'll make you love it, Treville says, nudging d'Artagnan's legs apart and thrusting *once* — 

d'Artagnan grunts into his mouth — 

Again — 

d'Artagnan yips — 

Again — 

"I — I — I've done this!" 

Treville bites his lips, upper then lower. "Do you want to do it again?" 

"Please don't stop!" 

Treville growls and *grinds* against d'Artagnan — 

"Oh — fuck — *fuck* —" 

"You like it?" 

"Yes please!" 

"You want me to keep fucking against you?" 

"And talking! The talking is — really good!" 

Treville laughs more and fucks d'Artagnan's mouth with his *long* tongue while he's fucking up against his *cock* — 

Just a few times — 

Just enough to get that *gurgle* — 

That *buck* — 

And then he pulls back — and shifts his tongue back — "I don't think you've given dogs enough credit, pup." 

"Oh, *fuck* —" 

"I don't think — nnh. I don't think you've given enough *thought* to the *possibilities*." 

"Oh — ohn — please don't *stop*!" 

"I want your knot in my *mouth*, pup —" 

d'Artagnan *yelps* — 

"I can feel it growing. Feel it getting *fat* for me...." 

"I can't I can't — oh fuck am I shifting? I can't help —" 

"It's just. That one part of you. Nothing to be — mnh. Concerned about. Nothing to fear. Can't you feel my knot, pup? Can't you feel it aching for you?" 

d'Artagnan arches up under him, strong and fierce, cock *jerking* — 

Treville *shoves* him down — 

d'Artagnan cries out and looks up at him, wide-eyed and mouth *slack* with lust — 

"Just stay down there and take it, pup. Just —" 

And d'Artagnan throws his head back and *howls*, absolutely guaranteeing that, no matter what, they *will* have to be riding out of this town at first light — or possibly sooner than that — but, for now — 

For now, there's this musky-sweet boy, this sweaty, hungry, *aching* pup, spending all over both of them and bucking and *bucking* — 

So sweetly. 

So *powerfully* — 

Treville growls and kisses him, takes the end of that howl into his *mouth* — 

Takes as much of it as he *can* — 

It's not enough. 

It's nothing like enough — 

And then Treville's on his *back*, and d'Artagnan is kissing and licking his way down his sticky *chest* — 

"Pup —" 

"It's just — it's just that I don't *know* if I want to kiss or lick or —" He growls and *bites* at a spatter of spend next to Treville's belly-button — 

Treville's hands are in his hair before he can *think* — 

"Yes — *yes*, I've done this, *too*, but your cock is bigger, and — um. Different?" And d'Artagnan looks up at him and snickers. 

Treville snorts. "*Don't* try to take it all." 

d'Artagnan winces. "Shit — now I really *want* to." 

"So you *are* contrary —" 

"I really am, but —" And d'Artagnan *licks* Treville's cock — 

"Fuck —" 

Licks the whole length of it — 

"*Fuck* —" 

Licks it over and over — "Mm. Mmm. I *am*, but I won't be *stupid*. I promise," d'Artagnan says, gripping Treville's *knot* — 

Treville barks *helplessly* — 

d'Artagnan stares up at him *wonderingly* and *squeezes* — 

Treville barks *again* — "Shit — d'Artagnan, be *careful* —" 

"You'll... lose control if I keep doing this..." 

Treville sits up and *grips* d'Artagnan's wrist. "*Don't* be contrary this way." 

d'Artagnan stares up into his eyes. "I'm um. I'm thinking about the fact that you have *four* lovers that I know about and apparently satisfy all of them." 

Treville blinks. "What —"

"And what that might mean... for when you're alone with a lover." 

Oh. Treville winces. "I won't hurt you. I *won't*." 

"I like *some* pain —" 

"But you don't know how much, and neither do I, and this isn't the way to experiment," Treville says, and tugs d'Artagnan's hand away from his knot. 

d'Artagnan looks at it almost mournfully. "I want to make you as crazy as you make *me*."

"I'll tell you how, pup. I..." Treville growls and rolls his head on his neck, feeling his ruff and needing — 

*Needing* — 

"Wrap your fist around my *cock*. Right at the base — yes. Just there. Now get your mouth on the head and lick — fuck. *Fuck*, that's —" Treville growls low. "I'm going to thrust soon —" 

d'Artagnan nods *fervently* — 

"*Don't* move your hand. *Squeeze* if it's too much." 

Another nod — 

"Don't stop licking. Don't stop — oh, fuck, pup, do you smell me sweating for you? Do you smell how much I'm *dreaming* of your arse?" 

d'Artagnan *shoves* his hips against the bed — 

*Sucks* Treville's cock — 

Treville growls again and pushes *in* — 

*In* — 

"Lick me, *lick* me, just — oh. You're such a good boy, such a good, good — I did think you were beautiful when you were a dog —" 

"*MM* —" 

Treville laughs hard — and shifts his head — 

Just for a moment — 

The dog reaches for the other dog, for the *named* dog, and does he like that? Does it get hard to hold onto with all the other human words? 

Does he want to hunt?

And then Treville pulls the dog back again, promising soon for both of them, promising time to *run* for both of them — and for the new dog, too. 

When he's ready. 

The dog can wait, for now. 

And Treville grins down at d'Artagnan, who's slack-jawed around his cock. "It works better if you *close* your mouth, pup." 

"I just — you just — and he was talking to me!" 

"He's a very friendly dog. Sometimes." 

"Um." 

"He'll be friendly to *you* *all* the time, pup. Now, please, lick my cock. Unless you've changed your mind, which is absolutely —" 

"I haven't changed my mind!" 

"Are you *sure* —" 

"I'm sure!" 

Treville snickers hard — 

"Even though you're *laughing* at me, and that's really —" And d'Artagnan takes Treville's cock in *obviously* just as far as he can, and then *scrapes* his way off — 

"Fuck fuck *fuck* — *d'Artagnan* —" 

"So you *do* know my name," he says, and licks his lips. 

"And you know a few tricks..." 

d'Artagnan smiles slyly. 

"Maybe I should make you swallow my cock." 

"Oh. Um." 

"Maybe I should make you take it all," Treville says, shoving one hand into d'Artagnan's hair and *gripping*. 

"Unh —" 

"Smart boy like you with a smart mouth... you can *learn* to do it if you can't do it right away. Can't you." 

"I — I — yeah. Yeah, I can. Please —" 

"You can learn to do anything I *teach* you to do. Can't you." 

"Teach me everything. Make me — um." 

"Make you what." 

d'Artagnan flushes dark and — tries to — look down. 

Treville won't let him. "Make you *what*." 

"Make me — make me *do* everything." 

"That's not what you were going to say. Do I need to punish you, pup?" 

"Oh fuck. Oh — maybe?" And d'Artagnan laughs nervously, hands working together in his lap —

"Do I need to make you even more mine?" 

"Oh, *fuck*, Treville —"

"You're hard for me again..." 

"I'm not going to be soft for a *year* if you keep *talking* —" 

"Is that so." 

"*Please* —" 

"What are you begging for. Hm? You just might get it." 

"Punish me. Hurt me. Make me — make me — take it. I don't even know what that *means*, they're just words in my head sometimes, I mean, they *used* to be in my head, before —" 

"Shh..."

d'Artagnan closes his mouth up tight and nods, whines, tries to shuffle closer despite the grip Treville has on his hair — no. Not that. 

Treville pulls him into a tight hug, holds him close, licks him all over his face, his ears, his mouth — 

d'Artagnan moans for him so *sweetly*, rolls his strong body against Treville's own, licks back — "Please, please, let me suck you, fuck my mouth —" 

"Is that what you want?" 

"I want to toss myself off while you do it, I want to squeeze my own knot while you — you *pound* my mouth, please, please do it, please do it, Treville, please make me yours — " 

Treville *grunts* — 

Tries to — no. 

"Get back down on the floor, pup. It — it will be easier." 

d'Artagnan *beams* up at him and scrambles right down, tossing his hair back over his shoulders and gripping his own knot — 

Yipping — 

Tilting *over* — 

Treville stands up and steadies him. "A little gentler than that, at first." 

d'Artagnan nods, wide-eyed and silent and sweating — and then *lunging* for Treville's cock, taking in half — 

Coughing — 

Taking in a bit less than that — 

Growling flat and low and — 

And Treville doesn't thrust, *yet*. 

He grips that hair in both hands and makes d'Artagnan *ride* his cock a little, back and forth and back again while d'Artagnan shakes for him, croons for him, laps *wildly* —

"You like this, too. You — oh, pup. Oh, pup, you're making me *insane*. Here. *Here*," he says, and thrusts as he moves d'Artagnan's head, keeping the rhythm slow and a little gentle at first, a little *easy* — 

d'Artagnan croons more — 

More — 

His eyes are squeezed shut — 

Treville looks down and sees that d'Artagnan's hands are *covered* in his own slick, that he's stroking it all over himself, tugging himself off, squeezing his own knot over and over and *over* again — 

"That's right... that's right, pup... do it. Make yourself spend for me." 

d'Artagnan bounces on his knees — 

Squeezes harder — 

*Shouts* — 

"Shh, no, close your mouth up. Keep it tight for me —"

d'Artagnan sucks *hard* — 

Treville growls and thrusts *hard* — but not too deep. Not too — 

He can hold on for a little longer, he can — 

(Don't! Don't hold on!) 

Pup — 

(Fuck me hard, fuck me so hard, please please *please* —) And d'Artagnan's lashes are fluttering on his flushed cheeks — 

His lips are swollen and so *plush* — 

His mouth is hot and wet and so good, so sweet, so —

And Treville fucks him harder, just a little, just —- 

(Oh YES — but MORE!) 

And when Treville looks down, d'Artagnan is stroking himself viciously, *brutally* — 

He must be *hurting* himself — 

(So good so good so GOOD) 

"Suck me. Suck me just as hard —" And then Treville is snarling as he *bucks* — 

As he *shoves* in — 

d'Artagnan is still using his *tongue* so — 

So *fucking* perfectly — 

d'Artagnan is groaning and crooning and groaning *more*, eyes wide open again and so dazed, so hungry, so hazed over with lust and need and — 

"I want to fuck you *blind*," Treville says, snarling and desperate as he slams in, *in* — 

d'Artagnan *tries* to nod, but Treville isn't letting him move his *head* — 

"I want — I want to fuck you until we're *both* unconscious —"

And d'Artagnan's eyes roll back in his head — 

"Don't stop tossing yourself *off*." 

He focuses in an *instant* — 

"Oh, you good *boy*, you perfect *dog*. Spend for me. Spend all over my *legs* —" 

d'Artagnan hitches to breathe and squeezes himself so hard, so *hard* — 

Treville fucks him harder — 

He can't — 

"*Spend*."

And d'Artagnan goes rigid and spurts, just like that, just — 

Hot and slick, wet and musky, hot and *perfect* — "Perfect *boy*, I —" 

And d'Artagnan croons *desperately* — 

And Treville can't — he slams in, all the way in, just for a moment, just for — 

d'Artagnan spurts twice *more*, flailing and then wrapping his arms round Treville's hips — 

Grinding his face in against his *crotch* and — 

"Swallow. Swallow, pup, and keep —" 

d'Artagnan swallows, again and again and — 

And Treville growls and growls and *claws* d'Artagnan's scalp — 

He *bucks* —

And Treville's cock *spasms* deep inside that hot, tight, perfect throat — 

Pack-brother — 

*Familiar* — 

And when d'Artagnan *rubs* the flat of his tongue against the underside of Treville's cock, Treville can't keep himself from *fucking* that throat, fucking it and fucking it and *fucking* it until he spends himself roaring and *snarling*. 

There's a moment when years of fucking wonderful and wonderfully *filthy* people would have him pull out to leave the last of his spend on d'Artagnan's tongue, but — 

d'Artagnan is still clutching him. 

And it feels bloody perfect to clutch him right back. 

To *hold* him, body to body — 

To make themselves *one* body, as close to it as bloody *possible* — 

*Please* — 

(I think I'm figuring out what this soul-bond is,) d'Artagnan says, and doesn't actually stop clutching him, or crushing his face against Treville's groin. 

Treville isn't quite capable of words, yet — 

(I know you're figuring it out, too.) 

Yes. *Yes*. 

(I think I need air.) 

Oh — 

(I don't actually *want* it.) 

There are several conflicting urges within Treville, most of which lead to a persistent desire to strip d'Artagnan down to his beautiful body, take him outside on a windy day, and choke him lovingly. 

(With your cock? Because I'm — no I need air,) d'Artagnan says, and pushes back — 

Treville *tugs* him back — 

And he's *dark* from the lack of air, gasping and whooping a little as he catches his breath. 

Treville helps him to his feet so he'll have an easier time — 

"I —" And he gasps more — 

"Take your time, don't try to talk —" 

"I really *loved* —" 

"Take your *time* —" 

"Wait —" 

"Of course I'll wait —" 

And then Massacreur is back — and licking the spend from Treville's feet and ankles. 

And shins. 

And — well Treville supposes d'Artagnan *had* gotten his knees a bit — 

And then Massacreur jumps up and licks the spend from Treville's chest and *belly* — 

Treville snorts and pets him. "I hope you realize how much I love you." 

Massacreur yips. 

"I mean, I *am* going to say it incessantly, but I also hope you realize it." 

Massacreur grins and wags. 

"Do you want to stay in that form for a while, pup? You'll feel less inclined to explain yourself in the morning." 

Massacreur cocks his head to the side. 

"You're not sure what all that is about? Neither am I," Treville says, and shifts. 

The dog sniffs at the named dog, the Massacreur-dog, the pack-mate, and is sniffed in turn. 

They both smell like sex, and that's good, good smells, nice, but the room they're in is small, and stuffy, and not-den. 

They decide that outside is definitely better. 

Massacreur-dog heard rabbits!


	8. Where we fit.

"I can't bloody believe you fucked Butcher and then *immediately* took him hunting, Basset," Kitos says, and spits to the side. 

"Without me!" 

"Without fox-face to provide the entertainment, even!" 

Treville hums and checks on d'Artagnan —

He's blushing and ducking his head over there on the horse they'd bought for him — Tristesse, an *odd* name for such a spirited and beautiful palomino, but they'll take her — 

He's blushing *darkly* — 

Treville rumbles —

And d'Artagnan looks up immediately and grins, bright and wide. "I'm all right, Treville. I'm um. I'm all right." 

*Reynard* spits to the side. "All *right*? A night of passion and bloodshed with notre meneur and you are only all *right*?" He dances his Joséphine closer. "Are you sure you're well, chiot? Let me see if you are fevered —" 

d'Artagnan laughs and controls his Tristesse well when she shies from Joséphine. "Some of us aren't that *dramatic*, Reynard —" 

"Why *not*?"

d'Artagnan splutters, stroking and soothing Tristesse *while* he does it — 

Good boy. 

(This — this is all easier to remember. Than the other things.) 

Treville nods thoughtfully.

"You maybe spent a lot of time on horses before, lad?" And Kitos leans over to peer at d'Artagnan.

"I rode all over our properties with my Dad from the time I was seven or so. I traveled with him, too," d'Artagnan says, and frowns, looking down at Tristesse's mane. 

Treville gets ready to call a halt to the conversation — 

(It's all right. I — I want to. I want to talk.) 

If you're sure.

d'Artagnan smiles at him. "I'm good."

"This is better than all *right*, but still not good *enough* — meneur, did you not tie him?" 

Treville coughs — 

d'Artagnan *chokes* — 

"I see that you did *not*! Meneur, you must not move so *slowly*," Reynard says, dancing Joséphine closer to *him* — 

Kitos booms laughter — 

Treville *sweats* — "Reynard —" 

"You know you must put your boy in his *place* —" 

"I'm right here!" 

"You know you must teach him proper *discipline* —" 

"Oh my God." 

Kitos is *wheezing* — 

"Still he offers the wrong oaths!" 

"Reynard —" 

Reynard turns to d'Artagnan. "You will *enjoy* being tied, chiot —" 

"How do you — no, don't answer that question!" 

Reynard laughs *hungrily*. "Non? Are you *positive*, chiot?" 

"Fuck —"

"Education, you know, it is very important to notre meneur." 

Kitos hoots —

Coughs — 

Recovers — "Yes, yes it is, Butcher. You're going to want to keep your *mind* in good trim, too," he says, beetling his brows and scowling fearsomely. 

d'Artagnan *stares* at Kitos — 

And then at Reynard — 

And then — he blinks. And blushes. "You're both. You're both distracting me." 

"No —" 

"Non, non —"

"You are. You — you felt or saw *Treville* wanting to go easy on me, keep me away from hard topics, and — and this is how you —" d'Artagnan blushes and grins. "I really. I really like being part of this — um. Pack." 

And then they're all blushing, really. 

Treville clears his throat after a moment, though, and says, "In truth, pup, Reynard and Kitos wouldn't have needed any signals from me in order to start trying to distract you. They want you to be happy. They... they want you to be just as happy as I do." 

And d'Artagnan looks to Reynard — who is smiling gently and warmly, just a little *softly* — 

And Kitos looks like he's tempted to torture poor Hestia out of her easy pace so he can get close enough for a cuddle — 

d'Artagnan looks down again, smiling and blushing and happy — 

Eager inside. 

Eager to be good for them. 

(Wouldn't *you* be?)

Of course — and you already are. 

(But —) 

Talk to us. That's what we want.

(Oh. About...?) 

"Whatever you like, lad," Kitos says, and pulls a bottle of wine from his saddlebag, handing it to Treville, who takes a long pull and then hands it to d'Artagnan. 

"Oh — I haven't — last night was the first wine I'd had in... well, you know." 

Reynard laughs dirtily. "Did it go to your head, chiot? Is that why you lost yourself with notre meneur?" 

d'Artagnan snickers and drinks — lightly. He'd watered his wine heavily last night, too. "I would've *lost* myself with Treville if he'd just kept *talking* to me. From across the *room*," he says, and hands the bottle to Reynard. 

Reynard laughs and drinks — "Vraiment? Tell us more!" 

"I —" 

*Kitos* laughs — "But first understand, Butcher — Fearless and fox-face have put time and *effort* into getting their mouths that filthy."

"Oh — what? They — they *practiced*? *That*?" And d'Artagnan leans over a little so he can see Kitos — 

And then he turns to Treville again — 

"How d'you practice that?" 

"Because you'd like to, pup...?" And Treville gleams at his pup from under the brim of his hat.

d'Artagnan shivers and laughs hungrily. "Yeah, I would! I want to — to drive you *crazy*."

"You're in luck —" 

d'Artagnan growls a little, making Tristesse's ears twitch — 

He pats and switches to rumbles and soothing words immediately — 

"Good boy; remember to hold onto your lead." 

"Yes, Treville, I — and that's another thing —" 

"Mm?" 

"I want — I want to *really* be a recruit. A — a Musketeer. I can shoot, and my Dad taught me how to use a rapier. I'm not bad at it, or at least I wasn't before — and you're all grinning like *wolves* and that's really nice *and* disconcerting —" 

"Keep *going*, pup," Treville says, and that's half a growl right there, but — 

"Yes — yes, sir?"

Treville's mind — blanks. 

Just... blanks. 

There's absolutely nothing there but heat and hunger and *pleasure* until he can register Kitos's thundering laughter —

And d'Artagnan's pleasured *satisfaction* way down deep at the heart of him. 

But. 

"d'Artagnan..." 

"That's what the *recruits* call you, isn't it, sir?" 

Fuck — "Yes —" 

"That's what they call *all* of you, but *especially* you." 

Reynard purrs and hands the bottle back to d'Artagnan. "He is notre meneur. *Always*." 

"That's *right*," Kitos says. "Laurent's the Captain, and he's always been our commanding officer, but he's been letting Fearless call the shots for the *missions* from practically the *beginning*." 

d'Artagnan *nods* with satisfaction — 

And Treville burns hotter. 

Wants — 

*Wants* — 

(I'm yours — no. I'm yours, *sir*.) 

Treville growls low and *needy* — 

Éventreur's ears twitch, but he doesn't so much as change his *pace* — he can *feel* that Massacreur is still right here. 

(I'll always be here, sir. I.) 

"What. Tell me. *Finish*, pup."

d'Artagnan grunts — "*Yes*, sir. I'll always be here. I'll always be here, and. And sir. Can mean a lot of different things." 

Treville growls *more* — 

"And *I* mean all of those things. All — I'm yours, sir." 

"Well, you've done it now, Butcher," Kitos says, and tosses him one of the meat pies the widow he'd been staying with had packed up for him. 

d'Artagnan catches it nimbly and starts eating. "Mm?" 

"Ah, oui, you have definitely done it," Reynard says, and gently urges d'Artagnan to drink more while he's eating. 

d'Artagnan looks back and forth between them — and then settles on Treville. 

Treville... is trying.

Trying to focus on riding. 

Trying to keep his lead on. 

Trying to keep his *control* — 

"You don't need it with me, sir," d'Artagnan says, quiet and stolid and sure. 

"Oh... pup," Treville says, reaching over to *grip* the back of his neck — 

d'Artagnan moans — "That feels so *good* —" 

"It's always yours. *I'm* always yours." 

"*Yes*, sir!" 

(Didn't I say that you could have what you wanted, amant...?) 

I'm all but *blind* with having what I want right now!

Jason laughs richly. (You're a remarkably easy man to spoil. Enjoy it.) 

Where are *you* —

(I'll be waiting for you at home...) 

Where are you *now* — 

(Biding my time, to be quite honest. d'Artagnan is a boy who will need time to grow truly accustomed to me. He won't get it while the rest of you are distracting him —) 

Then let me — 

(Detach the traumatized and grief-stricken boy from the very people who are making him feel most comfortable and happy? I think *not*.) 

*Jason* — 

"You're... speaking with Jason? Or Laurent — *the Captain*, I mean. I can't tell, you have a wall up," d'Artagnan says, lifting his nose just a little. 

(Oh, shrieking banshees —) 

"I'm talking to Jason, yes. He's been planning to stay a bit apart from the rest of us for a while —"

(*Amant* —) 

"But why?" 

"Because he thinks you'll want more time to settle in before you start spending time with *him*." 

"But... *why*?" 

Treville smiles ruefully. "That's the thing about Jason. He's spent so long alone, and so long literally unable to *touch* anyone without them recoiling from the various curses on him — I'm assuming the All-Mother took care of that for you?"

"Yes, sir! I didn't really want Jason to touch me, at first, when I was the dog — I could tell that there was *something* wrong — but the All-Mother explained." 

Treville nods. "I thought so. Anyway. He's reached a point where he's always a little bit... retiring. Where a part of him is always *positive* that he doesn't belong, even if he knows full well that he's *desired*." 

Reynard sighs. "Oui, c'est vrai. We have *all* tried to fix this — he is notre frère! — but still, sometimes..." 

"He's better than he was, mind," Kitos says. "It was like pulling teeth to get him to stay in the manor — right, Fearless?" 

"That it was, and he *still* doesn't stay all the time. But — he's mine, and I'm his. The All-Mother helped me bind *our* souls together, and that helped a *lot* —" 

"It... made him more confident?" 

Treville wags his head. "It's hard for me, sometimes. To think of a man like Jason Blood needing *confidence*. To think of someone so..." He licks his lips... and smiles at his pup. "I forget, because of how much of a *lock* he has on me, and on my heart, and on my *bollocks*. But he does need confidence, and a lot of other things. 

"Everyone needs those things, sometimes, pup. Do you understand?" 

"Yes, sir!" And then d'Artagnan obviously concentrates — 

Obviously *focuses* — 

And the call he sends out to Jason is so loud and *vehement* that they're all wincing a little — 

(All *right* —) 

— and Jason is riding out of a smudge on the air on one of his countless placid, pampered, overweight mares. Ceridwen, by the looks of her, though it could be Arianrhod. They both tend to get violets braided into their glossy gold manes.

d'Artagnan rides right up to him. "Please don't — don't shut *yourself* out for *me*."

"Well, your witch has made it utterly impossible for me to do it in anything like a *subtle* way, so —"

"Don't do it in *any* way. I don't *need* that. I don't — it would make me feel like a *burden*, Jason! It would make me *be* a burden. On — on the whole pack!" 

Jason blinks. "I... I was trying not to be burdensome to *you*, and mon amant —" 

"I *know* that, but you're — you have to see the problem, don't you?" 

Jason looks at d'Artagnan for a long moment —

*Studies* him — 

"A part of me can only wonder how much of what's moving you now, d'Artagnan, is the fact that you are mon amant's familiar, and thus must do everything in your power to make things *correct* for him." 

"Well, but that's just it. *He* has to make things correct for *me*, too —" 

Jason holds up a hand. "There are many witches who don't treat their familiars as well as they could, or should."

d'Artagnan rears back, and Tristesse shies a little with him. This time, his reflex to comfort and soothe her *isn't* immediate — 

And Jason winces hard. "Forgive me. That wasn't — pointed." 

"Yes, it *was* —" 

"It wasn't. I *don't* truly believe mon amant is abusing you, or even treating you ill —"

"Then —" 

"I have... there is a reflex within me to *educate* *always*, d'Artagnan. Even when the results are sickening," Jason says, and smiles ruefully. "This is... one of the reasons why I wanted to give you time with —" 

"The less-disturbing people? Have you *met* the rest of this bloody pack? The only person who *hasn't* said or done anything really disturbing to me within five minutes is *Laurent*, and that's because I haven't *spent* five minutes with him!" 

Jason *coughs* —

Reynard and Kitos and laugh *hard* — 

And Treville... warms. Just... all over. "Just wait until you get Laurent started, pup," he says with a sigh. "He'll give you nightmares for weeks." 

"Oh, good! Thanks for letting me know!" 

"You're *very* welcome. Marie-Angelique will mostly make you question your manhood, intellect, and right to be considered an adult —" 

"*Fuck* —" 

"But we'll worry about that when it's time to go a-visiting. Go back to educating my husband," Treville says, and grins. 

d'Artagnan blinks — 

Blushes — 

Blushes *dark* — 

"That is *precisely* what you're doing, d'Artagnan," Jason says, and smiles wryly. "And you're doing it well." 

"I... um. Yeah?" 

"Yes," Jason says, and cocks his head to the side. "It surprised me not at *all* to discover that you were truly a remarkably beautiful boy with a personality all but guaranteed to make mon amant sit up and *growl* — a boy under a remarkably *vicious* enchantment —"

"What — I — you *knew*?" 

"No. That was as hidden from me as it was from mon amant. But... for a shifter *like* mon amant to suddenly *need* a familiar? To need a familiar so * badly* that the All-Mother herself would scruff the likes of *me* to make sure he got one? No, when you turned out to be *yourself*, the pieces truly did seem to fall into place.

"Mon amant has earned *many* boons from the spheres — and from the goddess he *mostly* remembers to devote himself to — and... you are a gift." 

d'Artagnan blushes again. "I — I'm his." 

"Yes, you are —" 

"No — no. I mean..." d'Artagnan frowns and looks down. 

Jason frowns and looks to him — 

Treville flares his nostrils and seeks — He's struggling to find the right words to say, lover. Give him a moment. 

Jason nods. 

They wait — 

And d'Artagnan takes a deep breath and nods, stroking Tristesse's neck and nodding toward Treville. "I'm *his*. But I'm his familiar, and he's my witch. And — and I'm going to be his recruit, too, soon, and he'll be my commanding officer, but that's not what *you* have with him. That's not what Kitos and *Reynard* have with him. That's not what Laurent or — or Marie-*Angelique* have with him. But..." He shakes his head. "I can feel it now, you know? All the places I'm bound to Treville, and all the places he's bound to me, and how that means we're *all* bound together, because there was a *lot* of binding done at some point before you all ever knew I existed."

Jason's expression quirks. "A *bit*, yes..." 

d'Artagnan nods. "I can even feel the empty places where Amina should be. Amina and the *baby*." 

Treville *grunts* — 

Jason blinks — and narrows his eyes. "*What* do you feel?" 

"I — that they're not here. That they're not where they're supposed to be. That Amina isn't on this... sphere, I guess? Not completely, anyway. I think she's a ghost. And that the baby is um. Well, he's about seven now, and healthy —" 

Treville *barks* — 

He can't — 

He can't *think* — 

"Sir? Are you —" 

"Keep — keep *going*!" 

"You... can't feel this?" 

"Listen to me very carefully, d'Artagnan," Jason says, and *grips* Tristesse's reins, forcibly stopping them. "The fact that you can tell that Porthos is healthy — that Amina is a *ghost* —" He growls and shakes his head. "More. Give us as much as you *can*." 

"I don't have much —" And d'Artagnan looks back and forth between them. "Just that the baby — his name is Porthos? *He's* empty. He needs Treville. But... I wonder if maybe Massacreur can... track?"

Treville *growls*. "Do you know where to *start*, pup." 

"Paris, sir!" 

Treville looks to Jason — 

"*Ride*, amant. I'll take the papers to Laurent and explain why you're not reporting to him directly." 

Kitos tosses Jason the charred saddlebag — 

Reynard *grips* Treville's arm — "We will *find* him, chéri. We will find them *both* at *last*." 

Treville lifts Reynard's hand to his mouth and licks it, then gestures d'Artagnan to take point. 

His eyes are wide for a moment — 

Wider when Jason rides into another smudge on the air — 

And then he sets his jaw, nods, and takes off at a gallop.


	9. Yes, absolutely let the child weed that garden. Definitely do that thing.

It's not a surprise when the neighbourhoods get bad enough that it makes more sense to leave their horses with the first reputable hostler they can find, but when Massacreur leads them to the edges of the *Court*...

"Uh... Fearless..." 

Treville grunts. This is where he'd found Amina's body, and his son's drawings on the walls of their tenement room. 

This is where he'd been *led* — 

And if he's still here — 

If he's — but. 

He's healthy. He's strong. 

And, perhaps, Treville's Amina-love is still with him, somehow. 

Treville prepares to shift — 

And Reynard grips his shoulder. 

"Reynard —" 

"We cannot follow you on these streets, meneur," he says, and his voice is low and hurt, but his eyes are *wild* and hurt, angry, *frustrated* — 

Treville winces and grips him right back, leans in, kisses his cheeks and his soft, broad mouth. "Toujours frères. I'll get word to you as soon as I can." 

And Treville can see that that's nothing like *enough* — 

That that *couldn't* be anything like enough for this — 

But Kitos tugs Reynard back. "We'll be at the teahouse. *The* teahouse. It's still there, and it's still convenient to everything else." 

Treville nods and — 

For a moment it's just the four of them, him and Amina and Kitos and Reynard, snickering like idiots for a joke about what could be hidden under priests' cassocks — 

For a joke about Reynard getting lost under all the skirts he was crawling under — 

For a joke about Kitos's *cock*, and its strong resemblance to certain bell towers of their acquaintance — 

For a joke about what could happen if a plump little baker's apprentice bent over in front of Treville at just the wrong time — 

Or any time — 

For a joke about Amina's smart mouth, nasty mouth, dirty mouth, and what she might *do* with it if she were just a touch *friendlier* — 

("I *am*, my brothers! Just not to *you*.") 

And that had been met with a chorus of moans and beseeching — 

Amina had cackled and *hooted* — 

She'd only been a little pregnant, then. You could hardly *see* — 

And Treville's eyes are wet — 

And Kitos and Reynard are hugging him *close* while Massacreur leans hard against his leg — 

Treville shudders and — takes it. 

Breathes. 

Breathes in — some of his loves. Some of the people who've been making his world so much brighter, so much warmer — 

"*Toujours*," Reynard says — 

"Bloody *that*," Kitos says, and kisses Treville's temple, hard and sweet — 

Reynard licks his cheek — 

And Treville kisses both of them hard and then drops into a crouch to lick and kiss Massacreur's nose. 

Massacreur licks him back — somewhat more doggishly than he's managed in the past few days — 

"Let's go, pup," Treville says, and shifts — 

And the dog doesn't like these smells, at all. His Kitos and his Reynard are close, and his Massacreur-dog, too, but the *rotten* man-smells of this place are *overpowering*. 

So much decay! 

So much decay that's just been left to *sit*, as opposed to being given back to MOTHER!

He doesn't know why Treville has brought him *here* — especially since Kitos and Reynard are leaving *without* them — but — 

But then he does know. 

Treville is telling-sharing-showing — 

Treville is *giving*, and if this is —

If this is finally — 

The dog growls and *looks* at Massacreur-dog, who yips and takes off at a run. He knows where he's going. He can feel. 

He can feel their pup! 

Somehow he can feel their pup!

(I suspect, hound, that it's because he's both bound to you and no part of you, at all.) 

The dog follows Massacreur-dog and croons a soft question to his Jason. 

(We knew that one of the things that *could* have been hiding your mate and child from you was magic that specifically sought out to block everyone and everything Amina had known —) 

The dog yips impatiently — 

(Just so. Massacreur's soul is both intimately *twined* with your own and free of the touch of Amina's — or nearly so. I *suspect* that he would've been able to *point* to Porthos had he not consumed Treville's spend.) 

And that...

The first thing his Jason had done with them was to take their blood. Amina's blood. He was blocked, too. 

He was — 

(I will never be able to apologize enough, hound —) 

The dog growls.

(No? I'm afraid I'm always going to feel a *measure* of this guilt. I might have given you happiness —) 

The dog *snarls* — 

(All right, true, not if I'd been dead, but —) 

The dog sends the scents and images of his teeth locked around his Jason's balls. 

Jason *coughs*. (I — noted. Noted. There are witches in the direction you're heading, and they practice rather dark magics. I *will* be monitoring closely.) 

The dog whuffs. 

(You're quite welcome. I... I am yours.) 

His Jason his Jason, yes. Always. 

His Jason strokes him inside, strokes him all through himself — 

Good Jason, good mate, and a part of the dog is only running with *him* now — 

A part of him always *will* be — 

But Massacreur-dog has the feel of his pup, the scent of him *somehow*, despite all the other too-strong smells all around them — 

All the noise and *chaos* —

All the — but the fight in their path is wrong. 

There are three large men attacking two young boys while dozens of other humans just stand around and stare, and that's not right, that's not the *way*. He barks a command to Massacreur-dog, who yips and moves for the farthest large man, hamstringing him neatly while the dog does the same thing to the closest man — 

The screams make the man in the middle stop beating on the boys — 

He pulls a blade — 

Massacreur-dog takes his ankle while the dog uses his greater speed to take the man's wrist, make him drop the blade, make him bleed, make him suffer — 

But the large men are all down and screaming — 

Crying and making more bad smells in their clothes — 

The young boys are staring at them with wonder and gratitude — 

Massacreur-dog wags — 

The young boys smile — and that makes every part of the dog, but especially Treville, satisfied. The dog barks another command and Massacreur-dog yips in acknowledgment and takes off again. 

Deeper into this place of bad smells. 

Deeper and *deeper* — but. 

It's getting quieter. 

It's getting more... peaceful?

The smells aren't any better — the smells are *worse* — but they're also not smells of human decay. 

Massacreur-dog croons a question as he helplessly slows down. 

There's power here, and a lot of it. 

The dog shares what their Jason had said about the dark witch in their path. 

Massacreur-dog croons another question — 

No. No, she won't keep them from the dog's pup. Not ever. 

Massacreur-dog whuffs and they move forward, cautious and slow, and soon enough they find the source of the *new* bad smells — a garden, with all sorts of awful plants growing in it. The dog knows some of those plants are good when you're sick — he points them out to Massacreur-dog — but he also knows that *most* of the plants are poison. 

And. 

And there's a boy. 

He's at the very farthest corner of the garden from them, and he's pulling up some of the plants and leaving others, and he has pale brown skin and a wild cloud of curls and the dog can't smell him. 

Can't tell. 

Can't *tell* — 

But he also can. 

He croons low and forces himself to trot — not run — around the garden — 

Massacreur-dog follows — 

And, this close, they can feel *his* power. Earth-power. MOTHER-power. 

Still little, still small, not complete — 

The dog croons — 

The boy doesn't look up. "You know Yejide gets mad if animals tramp around her garden," he says, and keeps working. "I won't tell her, but she'll be back soon, and —" 

The dog *barks*, he can't help it, he can't — 

The boy startles and *then* looks up — 

And the dog *looks* at him, looks into him, tries to make him *see* — 

He knows he's using too much force for a pup, he can't — 

It's been so long so long so *long* — 

"Oh..."

Yes yes yes yes — 

"Oh, you're." The boy blinks and looks back over his right shoulder — 

There's nothing there — 

And then the boy looks back. "Maman told me there'd be a dog one day. Maman — she said he'd be a big, brown hunting dog, just like you, and that. Um." The boy reaches out and touches the dog's nose. 

His scents *explode* in the dog's senses — 

His boy his pup AMINA his boy BLOOD OF HIS BLOOD — 

The dog whines and whines and — 

No, no — 

"Are you all *right*? Do you need food? You — *and* your friend — both look like you ate really well recently, but there's a little more food inside —" 

And the dog — can't. He licks his boy, licks the stinky dirt from his hands, licks his face, licks him everywhere he can easily reach — 

The boy giggles — 

And Massacreur-dog sends them warmth, sends them love, sends them *satisfaction* — 

It's so good — 

It's so *right* — 

It's been so long but the boy is here! Right here!

And his hands are already so strong, so rough on the dog's face as he pets, as he strokes — 

His hands are *worked* hands, like Amina's, like — 

Oh, but his pup is so perfect!

The dog licks him more, *more* — 

But the boy is having trouble catching his breath? 

He's laughing too much? 

The dog pulls back, sitting on his haunches and waiting while the boy sits on his bottom and laughs and laughs and scrubs at his wet face. 

Massacreur-dog pants laughter — 

Good boys, good pups — 

And, eventually, his boy, his *boy*, catches his breath. His — but he has a name, like Massacreur-dog, and Treville wants him to use it. Treville is *pushing* it at him — 

Porthos. 

Porthos Porthos Porthos! 

*His* Porthos. 

The dog yips a little helplessly — 

"Mm — I — yes? *Are* you my dog now? I don't know what Yejide will say about that. I mean, she doesn't really *like* animals..." 

You'll come with me! Home to our den!

His Porthos blinks — and draws back. "I don't. I don't think I can do that..." 

The dog whuffs. 

"You're not — I mean. I have to live with an *adult*, and I —" 

The dog croons and moves close again — 

"You're not — you're *not* —" 

"He is," *Amina* says, his *Amina* says, from right there — 

Right over his Porthos's shoulder — 

The dog yips and yips and wags helplessly — 

She's *cupping* Porthos's shoulder — 

The last of the day's light is shining through her seeming, making the golds and oranges of her wrap-dress even more bright, even more *bright* — 

Dozens of memories of her scents are chasing all the terrible ones *away* — 

And Treville is — urging. 

But not yet. Not yet. 

"Maman! You're here! Is this the dog —" 

"He is. He is *exactly* the dog I told you about, sweet boy." 

"He wants to take me away from Yejide!"

And then — 

And then his Amina looks at him, into him, through him — 

Her eyes are so *dark*... 

The dog croons and wants to touch her, lick her, *have* her — 

SHE IS HIS MATE!

She reaches for him then, but *stops* before her fingertips touch his muzzle —

He *croons* — 

"My sweet brother," she says, "we cannot. My touch would hurt you very badly. *Only* Porthos and death-mages can touch me without harm."

"Brother? The dog is your *brother*, Maman?" 

"He is everything to me," Amina says, and never looks away from the dog. "I didn't tell you before, because you were too young..."

"Tell me *now*!" 

She laughs softly. "That dog is a shifter, sweet boy —" 

"Oh — *oh* —"

"And your *true* father." 

"The *soldier*! The — the Musketeer we were hidden from!" 

"He is my brother, my lover, my husband, *and* my mate —" 

The dog whuffs in eager agreement, eager *need* — 

"He is everything. *Everything*. Though it is curious to me that he has gained a familiar..."

Treville *urges* — 

And the dog can agree, for now. Just for now. They shift — 

"*Oh* —" 

And Treville crouches in front of his — oh, Mother, his wife and *child*. He dashes the tears out of his eyes and smiles down at Porthos. "Porthos. *Son*. I've missed you both so *much*." 

Porthos stares up at him, wide-eyed and studying — 

Taking him in just the way his mother does — 

Treville leaves himself open for it and — and turns to Amina, his beautiful Amina-love, who is drinking him *in* — 

"I have *ached* for the sight of your *face*, sweet brother." 

"Yours. *Yours*."

"Does the light shining through it improve things?"

Treville snorts. "It adds a certain sparkle. I like it." 

"Ah, the truth comes out! You have always wanted me *lighter*." 

Treville *splutters* — 

"My deathly pallor *arouses* your pale French loins —" 

"*Amina* —"

Porthos is giggling — 

"You've secretly longed to see me floating wispily away, bleached like pissy linens —" 

Treville chokes — "You've been — dying — to use those lines." 

Amina grins sharply. "For *years*. And where were you to be the whetstone for me to sharpen my wit on, hm?" 

Treville — can't. "Aching. Burning. *Freezing*." 

Amina closes her — luminously dark, somehow — eyes. "And I as well, my husband."

Treville nods, and they turn back to Porthos together.

"Who's the other dog?"

"*Excellent* question, sweet boy. *You* said you would never have a familiar, my husband."

Treville smiles wryly — and concentrates, pulling the d'Artagnan out of the Massacreur. 

"Eventually I'm going to get twitchy about that," d'Artagnan says. "Is there *anyone* you *didn't* tell that you didn't want a familiar?" 

Treville makes a show of thinking about it — 

"There might have been a few dead people," Amina says. "*Other* dead people." 

d'Artagnan snorts and blushes and drops into a crouch beside Treville. "I — um — hey? I'm d'Artagnan."

"It is a *pleasure* to meet you," Amina says. "You already know that I am Amina, and that our little one is Porthos —" 

"*You're* not a soldier," Porthos says, eyeing d'Artagnan's borrowed and ill-fitting farmboy clothes suspiciously. 

d'Artagnan grins. "Not yet, but I hope to be one day. I'm enlisting with the Musketeers as soon as I get the chance to. Your father will be one of my commanding officers." 

Treville rumbles and cups the back of his neck. "The All-Mother only just gave d'Artagnan to me, son. It was him who found you." 

"Oh. *Really*? But how, if you couldn't do it?" 

"The witch who cursed you both made it so everyone who had ever known Amina — or been touched by her — could never find her, son. But once the bond between my soul and d'Artagnan's was settled, he could feel everything I felt — including the spaces where you and Amina *weren't*. And he could do that *while* being relatively untouched by the curse the death-mage had laid." 

Porthos nods thoughtfully. 

"'Relatively', my husband...?"

Treville smiles wryly... and looks *pointedly* at d'Artagnan. 

Amina laughs *filthily*. 

d'Artagnan blushes *hard* — 

And Treville strokes his cheek with his knuckle before turning to Porthos again. "I know you like living with Yejide, and I'm going to assume she's a good, kind woman —" 

"Well... she's certainly *good*," Amina says, and smiles ruefully. 

Treville frowns. 

Porthos frowns, too. "Yejide takes *care* of us, Maman! She always has!" 

"Yes, she *does*, my good, sweet, *fair*-minded boy. *But*. I have *always* intended that we live with your *father*."

Porthos bites his lip. "And leave Yejide all alone?" 

"She will *always* be welcome to visit with you and Amina on my properties, son," Treville says — 

"You have more than *one* property? You don't *rent*?" 

Treville smiles wryly. "I'm gentry, son. I'm not *very* wealthy, but... I can take care of you very well. I promise." 

"And Yejide, too?" 

"I will *definitely* —" 

"That will *not* be necessary," a tall, dark-skinned woman who can only be Yejide says. She's stepping out of the tenement closest to the stinkiest, most virulently-poisonous plants, and she is, in fact, perfuming herself with the oils from some of those selfsame plants. 

Disguising her approach very neatly indeed. 

Treville and d'Artagnan stand, and Treville sweeps off his hat and bows. "Lieutenant Jean-Armand du Peyrer de Tréville, at your service."

"And I'm d'Artagnan of... nowhere in particular, right now, actually —" 

"You're of *my* line now, pup. And you always will be," Treville says, and looks at him. 

d'Artagnan looks at him, wide-eyed and *bright*-eyed — "Yes, sir. Yes, sir, I am." 

"Good pup," Treville says, and turns back to Yejide. "I'd appreciate it very much if you could tell me what I *could* do to be of service to you, madame." 

"Yejide *only*, please, Treville. I am *not* married and I will never be *French*," she says, and looks him over like he'd rolled in something disgusting before showing up.

Well, there probably *are* still blood spatters on his face...

(But that wouldn't put one such as *her* off, amant.) 

No, I wouldn't think so. Welcome back. 

(I — your wife is beautiful.) 

And you're still my husband.

(You're going to have a very crowded bedroom suite, amant —) 

(Dogs *prefer* it that way,) *Amina* says. 

Jason *grunts* — (I — Madame —) 

(I like that word even less than Yejide does, brother —) 

(*Fuck* —)

(You couldn't find me *because* my blood is in your veins.) 

(Yes, and I'm —) 

(My brother. My *old* brother. The *second* the enchantment was broken, I could see everything about you — and everyone else my husband has been getting up to tricks with in my absence. You. Are. *Mine*.) 

(*Amina* —) 

(What is that phrase you use? Best get used to it? I like that *very* much.) And then Amina turns to Yejide. "I — *we* — will be forever in your debt for what you have done for us, Yejide, but I know that you don't truly think that way *all* the time. I know that we *are* your family."

"Yes. You *are*," she says, and sounds viciously hacked-off about it. 

Amina nods. "Let us be your family, then. My husband will provide for you as a nephew provides for his aunt, and you will not want for time with Porthos."

Treville nods. 

"I won't leave you all alone, Yejide, I promise! And I promise to always help with your garden and your spells, too," Porthos says.

Yejide blinks, and for a moment stares only stonily at Porthos. 

Treville fights back a *growl* — 

But then Yejide smiles, small and warm. "My strong boy. Of course you will." 

"*Yes*!" 

"And I'll teach you everything you need to know." 

"All right!"

And then Yejide looks to Amina and him and nods, once. And walks back into her tenement without a word. 

d'Artagnan blinks. "Um." 

Amina smiles wryly. "Yes. *Now*. *How* will you get my Porthos out of this *hole*?" 

And the smudge on the air is timely and perfectly wonderful. 

Jason steps out with a rueful smile, spares an *admiring* glance for the garden, and bows to Amina. 

Amina curtseys back. 

"We have much to discuss, Amina." 

"Yes we *do*, old brother. For now, say hello to Porthos." 

Jason smiles with a little rueful pain and a lot of brightness at Porthos, who is studying the smudge on the air intently. "Porthos..." 

"Oh — I'm sorry!" 

"It's quite all right —" 

Porthos immediately moves to take his *hand* — but Amina holds him back. 

"Not that, sweet boy. Jason is cursed, and you will not be able to touch him until you have shared blood." 

"All right! Hi, Jason! It's nice to meet you!" 

Jason's expression quirks — 

He looks a bit poleaxed — 

(You need to prepare your lovers for unexpected situations better, my husband...) 

You're absolutely right, Amina-love. I'll start jumping out of cupboards at him. 

(And I promise to be very remorseful when I run you through with a cursed bastard sword — I. Hm. I —) "It is an absolute *pleasure* to make your acquaintance, Porthos —"

"Are you going to be one of my teachers? Maman always says that when I met my real father all his friends would teach me things." 

"I." 

(Steady on, lover.) 

Jason takes a deep, shuddering breath — and smiles. "I will teach you *everything* I can, Porthos. Starting with this: When traveling between the spheres, which is what we're about to do, do not look at *anything*." 

"Um. How do you not look at *anything*? Do you close your eyes?" 

"That's *one* way to do it. Here is another," Jason says, and pulls a shadow out of nowhere, wrapping it around Porthos's face. 

"Oh, it's so smooth!" 

"Just for you, Porthos," Jason says, and smiles, turning to d'Artagnan. "You may wish to shift for this. Mon amant has always found the journeys easier in dog form." 

d'Artagnan nods thoughtfully — and shifts. 

Treville — 

Treville licks Jason's mouth, slowly and appreciatively, and then turns to Amina — 

"Do *not* do what you are thinking, my husband." 

"One kiss. *One*, for all the years. For all our —" Treville growls low, looking into her eyes.

"Oh —" Amina growls, too. Amina's eyes *flare*, hot and maroon — 

Treville's tongue lengthens helplessly — 

She leans in — 

And the kiss is like being stung, like being bitten, like being — eaten alive, sucked dry, held down, pulled *in* — 

(Oh husband sweet husband don't *let* me —) 

He *fucks* her mouth — 

Just — 

Once — twice — again — 

She sucks — 

It shudders him right down to his *soul* — 

And he feels himself shaking for other, for — no. He can't. He — 

He has responsibilities.

He pushes back, licking his lips and forcing himself to let go, to give over — 

His *love* — 

Amina is staring at him with hungry *pride*, and that — 

Treville raises an eyebrow. 

"The hound I left..." She licks her lips. "You would not have been able to pull away, once upon a time." 

Treville strokes the air next to her beautiful face. "I was a child. A puppy." 

"Mm. I..." She laughs brightly and ruefully. "I think a part of me is *still* a puppy, my husband. Or... no. It is the woman in me *and* the revenant in me. I *hunger* for you."

Treville growls and clenches his hands into fists. "We'll find a way." 

"Will we?"

Jason hums — and gestures the shadow-blindfold down from where Porthos had pushed it up to peek at his parents — 

"*Oh* —" 

"I feel *strongly* that the All-Mother will have *something* to say about it, Amina, considering the fact that she contrived to send d'Artagnan to mon amant in the first place — perhaps as soon as he was mature enough to *hunt* — thus *guaranteeing* that your family would be reunited."

Massacreur blinks and yips, looking to Treville. 

Treville strokes his head and smiles wryly. "The All-Mother plans *ahead*." 

"The All-Mother loves her *children*," Jason says, looking sternly at both Amina and Treville. "If those children *let* her." 

Treville looks to Amina. "We'll be offering our devotions soon, lover." 

Amina swallows and nods, sparkling in the fading sunlight. "Yes. We will." 

"*Good*," Jason says, and raises an eyebrow at Treville. 

"The teahouse, first. Kitos and Reynard are waiting for us there —" 

"Oh — oh, you sentimental *idiots*," Amina says, and she's weeping, just a little — 

And Treville darts in quick to kiss an icy tear away. 

The sting is small, but *present* —

And then he shifts — 

And Massacreur-dog moves in front of his Porthos and slaps his hands with his tail until he grabs it —

And the dog moves behind Porthos and grips the back of his shirt in his jaws — 

His Amina floats beside them — 

They go.


	10. Have you called your MOTHER today?

Treville rests on the grass, on the blanket laid out on his meagre lawn, and watches Porthos throw a large, heavy, leather ball for Massacreur. 

In truth, the ball is a little too big, still, for Porthos's hands — Kitos had tried to find one sized for a child, but his ability to estimate such things isn't always the best — but neither Porthos nor Massacreur get tired of this game — 

*His* dog loves it just as much — 

"Then why aren't you over there *with* them, my husband?" 

Treville will never get tired of *that*, either. He grins and turns to watch his Amina-love's seeming appear on the blanket with him — 

Watching the late-afternoon light gain more colour and shape — 

And shapeliness — 

She laughs at him, swatting a little with her scarf — but not touching. "Answer my *question*, you fool of a dog!"

Treville lets his tongue loll — 

She snickers and swats at him more — but her eyes are hungry. 

So are his. 

"Oh — husband..." 

Treville shakes himself. "I was waiting for you, Amina-love —" 

She rumbles for him —

He rumbles in helpless *response* — and forces himself not to lean in. He — "It's time." 

She *blinks* — 

Looks to Massacreur and Porthos — Massacreur has stolen the ball and is dancing around a giggling Porthos with the thing in his great jaws. They'll be fine. 

Amina sets her mouth in a firm line and nods, and they move off the blanket and onto the grass, lying back — 

Concentrating — 

Reaching *deep* — 

Reaching *instinctively* for the spaces they share within each other and rumbling and rumbling and their hands almost touch — 

"*No*, my husband!" 

Treville grunts — and focuses. Right. Right. But this is just the *problem* they have to speak to MOTHER about, and they can concentrate on Her, they can focus on Her, they can *reach* for Her — 

And get yanked right down. 

Deeper than usual, it seems — it's *hot* in the hollow they're sharing, and the green is wilder, more intense —

"Is it? It seems just the same to me," Amina says. 

Treville blinks — 

"Oh —" 

And MOTHER is there, MOTHER is all through them, MOTHER is *shoving* the green into them —

The knowledge that this is how it *must* be for a revenant soul — 

Amina's groans are so *throaty* — 

Treville sounds *exactly* like he's getting *fucked* — 

They — 

They can't help *reaching* for each other — 

They can't — 

And MOTHER'S sigh is everything hungry, everything — 

**MY CHILDREN MUST ALWAYS TOUCH.**

Treville whuffs out his air — 

Amina gurgles — 

And then there are vines binding their arms together, binding them *tight* together — 

Treville can feel the smoke and silk and not-quite-nothingness of his Amina-love — and no draw on his power.

No draw on his *life*. 

He clutches Amina's hand — 

She clutches him *back* — 

They croon and yip their thanks, their love, their *abject* gratitude — 

**I AM NOT FINISHED,** She says, and Her amusement is just as massive, just as *flattening* as the rest of Her. 

But Treville has Amina's hand in his own, and nothing is frightening. 

MOTHER binds them even more tightly and — more knowledge is there. How they should've both come to Her once they'd been changed. 

How it had been wrong for Ife and Lara and Layo to try to bypass the gods — to try to bypass *Her* — when they'd made Treville and Amina what they were. 

How *She* could've kept Amina and Porthos safe, all those years ago. 

And they're whining now, whining and crying — 

And She is crying with them, sharing with them that She could only watch it all unfold, unable to touch, unable to alter, unable to *shape*. 

Until She'd felt d'Artagnan beginning to come into his true power. 

They thank Her again, apologize, croon — 

She hushes them, and shows them d'Artagnan as a boy with his father — a boy who, like them, had been Her child, but only weakly so before another witch's intervention had changed things irrevocably. 

The father is shadowed in this view, difficult to be sure of — MOTHER is *never* sure of the humans who are not her own — but *they* can tell that he was kind, and wise enough, and devoted to both his son and the families living and working on their land. 

They can tell that he was a good man, and true — 

And they can see that d'Artagnan was devoted to *him*. 

They can see his smiles, and his dreams of being a man just *like* him — 

Even as he worked just a little harder than his father wanted him to at learning the pistol and the sword. 

Treville can't help but growl a little for that — 

Amina *and* MOTHER are amused at him — 

Treville forces himself to subside a little. To just — wait. 

MOTHER strokes him — 

Amina whuffs laughter — 

And then MOTHER shows them d'Artagnan with all the small children of his village, shows them his patience, and his cheer, and his easy kindness as he teaches and helps the children with their work —

As he sets aside his own leisure to help a little girl learn to ride better so that she'll be able to help on her farm — 

And Treville can *feel* Amina coveting, just a little — 

(You hush —) 

Feel her making *plans* for his familiar — 

(He is part of the *pack* —) 

He has a smart mouth, too, you know. 

(I — he is always so *respectful*!) 

He needs a good woman or two in his life, Amina-love. Teach him *right*. And Treville grins at her. 

Amina rumbles, obviously helpless to it. It pulls a rumble out of Treville — 

And MOTHER coos at both of them. It's a bit like being rolled between two very soft, very warm boulders. 

Or breasts, he supposes. 

MOTHER'S amusement for that makes the rolling-sensation that much more vigorous. 

After a time, she shares with them how long she'd spent mourning for and with Her d'Artagnan, how long she'd waited for a child who *could* take him, and heal him, and care for him properly — 

"I always will, MOTHER!" Treville says — 

"Yes, he *will*," Amina says. "I will make sure of it."

Treville whuffs a laugh — "And so will the rest of the pack!" 

MOTHER strokes them — 

And strokes them — 

They're moaning and *writhing* — 

MOTHER is filling them with energy, with *power*, with — 

With something... else?

Treville doesn't know what it is, but it feels so good, so right, so rich and thick and *right* — 

Amina is *howling* beside him — 

Getting — getting so much warmer — 

So much more — solid...

Oh...

MOTHER...

**MY CHILDREN SHOULD TOUCH, AND BE FRUITFUL.**

Treville whuffs out his air as the full force of that *slams* him flat — 

As every *implication* of that — 

He can smell his Amina-love's *sweat* — 

For the first time in seven *years* — 

And she — 

"Oh, husband, oh, my sweet husband —" 

She can smell his tears.


	11. Dogs definitely like it better this way. So do some other people.

Treville has a very crowded bedroom. 

The scents are... 

Well, it's only the *strictest* self-control that's letting him do more than stand here and gulp air like the desperately randy idiot he absolutely is.

As opposed to this: 

He presses d'Artagnan against the wall opposite to the bed — face-first — and leans in to whisper in that blushing ear. "All right, pup?" 

"You're *touching* me," he says, as if that's an answer. 

It is. 

It always is. 

Treville *licks* that ear — 

"What *ever* do you plan to do with your familiar against that hard, unforgiving wall, amant...?" And Jason's voice is low and teasing — *insinuating* — but they can all hear how fast his heart is beating. 

They all know, at this late date, how much effort he's putting into *trying* to remember that he belongs right here. 

"Oh, yes, my husband," Amina says, and her scents are hot, wild, *deep* — "What will you do?" 

"I —" 

And Jason grunts — "Amina — *fuck* —" 

Amina laughs, dark and *filthy*. "*Don't* turn around, husband. Answer the question." 

Treville hums — 

d'Artagnan *shivers* — 

Treville laps him and laps him — "As you *say*, Amina-love," he says, and licks his lips. 

"Unh —" 

"Shh, pup." 

"Yes — yes, sir —" 

"Good pup. I was thinking it was just about time for me to fuck this good, good pup." 

"*UNH* —"

Jason *pants* — 

Amina laughs more — "You have not done this before, sweet husband...?" 

"I have *not*, sweeter wife — no, wait, that makes me feel too much like Laurent." 

Amina hoots. "Admit it. You would *love* it if my arse were as fat as Marie-Angelique's." 

"I."

There's silence. 

A lot of silence. 

Sweat rolls down Treville's naked back — "I *sense* that there's a right answer to that question, but I have no idea what it *is*, Amina-love." 

The room fills with laughter — 

Happiness and hunger and *love* — 

"Because you are my dear husband," Amina says, snickering, "I will give you *time* to figure it out." 

"Oh thank you —" 

"But only a little time." 

"Oh fuck." 

"d'Artagnan..." 

d'Artagnan stops snickering breathlessly and hums. "Yes, Amina?" 

"You *want* my husband's big cock?" 

"Oh, fuck, really badly!" 

There's a pause — 

Jason *grunts* again — 

Moans — 

"Your *hands*, Amina, I — but. I can be more present," he says, and laughs more. 

"That's *right*, you —" 

"Shh, husband," Amina says, and then there are — wet sounds from behind them. Kissing sounds. 

Treville doesn't want to shift on his feet like a *puppy*, but he also wants to *see* — 

(This isn't for you... yet,) Amina says, and they laugh together even as she moans into the kiss. She — 

She's *taking* Jason. *Claiming* him and making him *hers*, making him *feel* how much he belongs with them — 

How much they all belong *together* — 

Jason gasps — 

Growls — 

And the kissing sounds get harder, louder, more *serious* — 

Treville's cock is already *dripping* — and, when he checks, so is d'Artagnan's. 

He gives his pup a few rough strokes, just like he likes, and d'Artagnan croons as quietly as he can and starts leaking all over his hand *immediately*. 

Treville *rumbles* quietly and crowds him just a little more. "Good pup." 

The scents of d'Artagnan's pleasure spike as he tries to spread that much wider, as he *offers* himself for *use* — 

"My beautiful *boy*..."

"Unh — nuh — *yours*!" 

"Shh, now, just a little quieter..." 

"I'm sorry, sir! I'll be good for you, I promise," d'Artagnan says, lowering his voice and panting and panting and — dropping for him. Just like that. Giving himself *over*. 

"It's — mm. Curious that you expect any less, amant..." 

Amina rumbles with pleasure — 

There's a *loud* sucking noise — 

Jason *grunts* again — 

And then Amina says, "He is your *familiar*, my husband. He is yours... and you are his." 

"When everything is in its proper balance," Jason temporizes — 

"As it *is*," Amina says with a growl — 

And Jason cries out a little —

And Treville needs — "Did she bite you, lover?" 

"Yes — *fuck*. She broke the *skin* —"

"*Don't* tell him where," Amina says, and they're all laughing again, Treville growling through it and biting the back of d'Artagnan's neck — 

He can't — 

He has to. 

He has to show them what *else* they can have.

He holds his pup's neck in his jaws and his wrists up against the wall in his left hand — and he tosses him off right there. 

Right *there* — 

Waiting... 

And the first yip comes fast, makes him heat all over, makes his cock twitch and his bollocks draw up just that much more. 

And d'Artagnan can feel every bit of that, feel his witch losing his *mind* — 

He yips *more* — 

Pants and *barks* — 

Trembles on his big, graceful feet and bucks *strong* into Treville's fist, bucks *hard* — 

Bucks again and *again* — 

*Again* — 

Treville growls and bites down *harder* — 

d'Artagnan *yelps* — 

"Oh, d'Artagnan. You are a *beautiful* dog," Amina says, fervent and breathless — 

"Your surrender is perfect — and perfectly humbling," Jason says — 

"We will not let you *go*," Amina says, and d'Artagnan gasps, bucks *raggedly* — 

Gasps again — 

And Treville can feel his surprise, his confusion, his — 

He hadn't expected — 

Oh, *pup* — 

(Sir —) 

Treville squeezes his knot *viciously* — 

d'Artagnan *howls* — 

Spend, pup. Spend and start learning what *else* it means to be part of this pack. 

(Sir Sir please I —) 

Don't make me wait.

And d'Artagnan howls again, desperate and sweet, needy and *sweet* as his cock spasms in Treville's hand — 

As his wrists *flex* — 

As his body jerks and writhes and — he spurts. 

Oh, good pup... 

Treville bites him harder, *harder* — 

d'Artagnan's howl becomes a *scream* as he spatters the *wall* with his spend — 

Treville licks away the little bit of blood, licks to *heal* — 

(Sir, I'm yours I'm yours I'm yours —) 

Treville *sucks* the side of his throat, making a big, exclamatory mark — 

"UNH —" 

And d'Artagnan spills just a little bit more. 

Good *pup*. 

Inside, he's *glowing* with pleasure, with satisfaction and *pride* at having *pleased* again — 

Always, pup...

But there's still just that little bit of question. That little bit of confusion, because... he didn't expect to be wanted by Amina and Jason?

(I...) 

Or he didn't expect to be wanted that *much*...?

(Um.)

Treville keeps a grip on d'Artagnan's wrists, letting his pup slump against him, and licks his other hand and wrist clean. 

He gives his pup time to think, and rest against him. 

(Thank you, sir.) 

Treville kisses his scalp. 

d'Artagnan rumbles, obviously helplessly — and then just as obviously stops himself. 

They can both feel the weight of Amina's and Jason's attention from the bed, but... *all* of them can be patient with their boy. 

(Your — I'm *your* boy,) d'Artagnan says, and strains against Treville's grip on his wrists — 

Treville releases him and steps back, raising an eyebrow. 

And d'Artagnan turns around, looking at all of them before focusing on Treville. "I'm *your* boy," he says again. "Your — your *pup*." 

Treville nods. "Always." 

"Are you... giving me away?" 

Treville blinks and growls, yanking d'Artagnan in close by the *throat* — 

"Nngh — all right, you're not, but —" 

"It felt that way?" 

d'Artagnan nods as much as he can. "I'm — I'm part of the pack. I don't *belong* to the pack." 

And — they can remember that.

"And hold *on* to that," Amina says, smiling ruefully. 

"Even in the heat of the moment," Jason says, equally rueful. "You have my apologies." 

"And *mine*, d'Artagnan," Amina says. "It's only..." She makes a cupping gesture with her hands. "You are very beautiful, and I have forgotten, I think, much of how to be a reasonable woman over the past seven years." 

d'Artagnan blinks and *stares* — "*You're* beautiful. You're *both* beautiful and just — really *amazing*, and — you don't have to be *reasonable* or anything like that —" 

"Just... respectful, pup?" And Treville strokes d'Artagnan's cheek with his knuckle. 

d'Artagnan blinks more — and smiles, bright and wide. "Yeah! Please, that. Please." 

Jason bows his head, bite-mark on his throat not fading even a little — 

And Amina inclines her head. "I promise that we will *always* respect you, d'Artagnan." 

"I promise that we always *have* respected you," Jason says, and smiles ruefully. "Despite appearances." 

d'Artagnan bites his lip — and nods. "I — I knew that, actually," he says, and then grins, just that fast. "So... back against the wall?" 

Treville laughs hard, licking d'Artagnan all over his face —

d'Artagnan laughs and pants and licks back — 

Treville walks them *right* back to the wall — 

And the little pot of oil floating beside them on a cushion of shadow is just one of the many reasons why Treville loves his life. 

"I have *always* said that you were a remarkably easy man to spoil, amant." 

"*One* year, for his *birthday*, I pretended that his present was me teaching him how to scrub pots," Amina says, with a pained laugh. 

"Let me guess," Jason says, "he was overjoyed."

"He pulled a bottle of wine out of his saddlebag for us to share and set to with a *will*," Amina says, and snorts. "Of course, my * real* present for him was to dance for him... this was... before..." 

"But I still saw *you*, Amina-love," Treville says, and licks his lips. "I still... if I hadn't been on my knees, already, you would've put me there." 

Amina's sigh catches on a low note — 

"Yes, *precisely* that," Jason says. "To live in mon amant's love is to ache in *every* best way." 

"Oh — *yes*," d'Artagnan says, clawing at the plaster and bracing himself. "That's exactly *it*."

"*Oh*, yes." 

And then they're all *focused* on him, and Treville is sweating a bit again, but — 

But — 

"There's no choice," he says, and slicks his fingers. "There's no choice but to love you all with all of myself." 

"Did you *want* a choice, mon amant?" 

"About as much as I do when you're putting me in my *place*, lover," Treville says — 

d'Artagnan *yelps* again — 

And Amina laughs. "Do not fret, d'Artagnan. "My husband will let you watch someday *soon*." 

"That's *right*," Treville says. "Now reach back and spread yourself for me." 

"Oh — *oh*. Yes, sir!" 

"Oh, look at this perfect little hole," Treville says, and licks his lips. "If you'll give me *just* a moment..." 

d'Artagnan croons a question —

"Shh. It's all right, pup. I just have something to show you," Treville says, dropping to his knees and licking d'Artagnan's whole cleft — 

"*OH* — sir —"

And Treville doesn't wait. He nuzzles right up to that swollen, sweaty, musky strip of flesh behind d'Artagnan's balls — 

"Oh — *oh* —" 

He *sucks* —" 

d'Artagnan staggers and *yelps* — 

Steady, pup, steady... And Treville reaches up to grip d'Artagnan's hip with his *dry* hand — 

"S-sorry — sir — oh —" And then d'Artagnan moans, croons, *croons* — 

Treville is *mouthing* at that strip of flesh — 

Nuzzling harder and licking, lipping — 

Hardly sucking, at all — 

That bears thought and experimentation. Treville licks another long stripe up d'Artagnan's cleft — 

"Unh —" 

And another — 

"*Please*!" 

Do you know what you're begging for, pup...? 

"No, sir! Or — or more. More of what — the nuzzling —" 

This? And Treville *grinds* his beard against the swelling — 

d'Artagnan shares the feeling of his belly clenching, of his *arse* clenching — 

He croons so *loudly* — 

He *shakes* — 

You know I can't resist that, pup... 

"P-please don't! Don't resist, sir!"

Good boy, Treville says and shifts his muzzle enough that it's easy to scrape his *teeth* along that cleft — 

d'Artagnan howls and *shudders*, nearly losing his grip on his own arse with his left hand — 

And Treville can't hold back. He shifts back and licks, licks to soothe, licks to taste, licks to *have* for *himself* — 

"Nuh — *nuh* — I'm yours, sir!" 

And Treville can hear Jason and Amina saying *something* on the bed, hear them moving, touching — 

(But right now you are focused on that beautiful boy's arse, sweet husband...? We are shocked.) 

(Appalled, truly.) 

And d'Artagnan is laughing *breathlessly* even as he shakes — 

Treville would *like* to find some way to protest — 

(But that would get in the way of you lengthening your tongue just *so*, amant... wouldn't it?) 

Oh, fuck, yes — 

(It would get in the way of you *fucking* d'Artagnan *that* way,) Amina says —

And d'Artagnan grunts, little hole flexing against Treville's lips — 

(He's never felt that before, amant...) 

No, he — 

(He's never felt *you*, my husband...) 

Treville snarls — 

d'Artagnan *gasps* — 

And Treville slips his tongue in deep, deep, *deeper* — 

d'Artagnan gasps and gasps and claws at the plaster, shudders all over, *sobs* — 

(His head is thrown *back*, my husband...) 

Treville *growls*, right into d'Artagnan's arse — 

d'Artagnan barks twice and clenches *hard* — 

Gasps and flexes open immediately — 

Clenches *again* and *croons* —

(Oh, d'Artagnan...) And Amina sounds breathless, hungry, *hungry* — 

(Y-y-yes! Please! I mean —) 

(Shh. All is *well*. It is only that you should know...) 

(What? What?) 

(My husband is sharing the feel of your tight, clenching, *flexing* arse with us...) 

d'Artagnan grunts and flexes *wide* open — "I —" 

(Mon amant is sharing your sweat, your musk... everything.) 

d'Artagnan *yelps* again — 

Shudders *hard* — no more waiting. 

I'm also going to share this, Treville says. 

"*What*?" 

*This*, Treville says, and starts to *fuck* d'Artagnan, starts to *work* him with his shifted tongue, his *long* tongue — 

"Ah — ahn — *oh* —" And then d'Artagnan *howls* again, going rigid all over and clenching up *tight* — 

Treville knows what to do for that.

He presses his lips *hard* against that clenching hole and kisses, suckles — 

d'Artagnan *chokes* on his howl and shares the feel of himself opening again, aching and throbbing in his arse and in his *cock* — 

Treville wraps his oiled hand around it and strokes, squeezes, molests with a *will* — 

And d'Artagnan howls, short and *sharp* — 

Howls again — 

Clenches *tight* and *wails* as his cock *spasms* in Treville's fist — 

As his *knot* flexes — 

Good pup, beautiful *pup* — 

Treville *squeezes* that knot —

And d'Artagnan wails again, barks and *shouts* as he begins to spurt — 

As Treville fucks him *faster* with his tongue — 

As d'Artagnan sends him image after helpless image of himself spread out and fucked, held open, stuffed *full*, fingers and cocks and tongues, too — 

(We have so *much* to teach you, d'Artagnan,) Jason says with breathless *relish*. 

And even the *question* in d'Artagnan's mind is rich with need, with *pleasure*, with the need to be *fucked* —

Treville growls and kisses that hole like a muscular little mouth, *milks* d'Artagnan's knot — 

d'Artagnan's scream *becomes* another howl as he spills all over Treville's hand and *wrist* —

(You should see how good he is being for you, my husband. *Working* to keep his feet...) 

Treville kisses *harder* — 

d'Artagnan bucks and shudders, *sobs* — 

*Stills* himself again — 

Good pup. *Strong* pup... 

And the *waves* of pleasure for that, of satisfaction and pride and *need* —

Treville growls low and holds *on* to his pup, his *perfect* pup — 

Holds his hip tight and his cock *gently* as he slowly licks his way out of his arse, as he licks his way up d'Artagnan's spine to the back of his neck — the bruises are already healing. 

Treville sucks more onto his pup's beautiful dark skin. 

d'Artagnan moans and slumps against him — 

Treville moves d'Artagnan's hands away from his arse so he can rest for a moment — 

Holds him and kisses his throat and cheek and temples — 

*Licks* him, and — 

And Jason gasps and growls and gasps again — "Amina —" 

(I cannot wait any longer, old brother. My mouth was *empty*.) 

"Then — by all means — oh, soul-rending *harpies*, that's — I have no idea why I expected your techniques to be the same as your husband's for this, and I clearly deserve to be punished for a lack of imagination." 

Amina laughs with her *mouth* full — 

That — 

d'Artagnan presses harder against him for a moment, and then turns in his arms — 

"Hey —" 

"Maybe... um. Maybe it's time for us to move to the bed?" 

Treville looks down into those wide, dark eyes — 

That face that's *shining* with sweat — 

Treville leans down to lick those cheeks —

And Jason moans, low and hungry and *shameless* as Amina slurps — 

Gulps — 

And Treville is hungry, so bloody *hungry* — 

And d'Artagnan pushes on his chest lightly. "Bed?" 

"I —" 

"Come *here*, amant. I — I'm quite sure you haven't seen nearly enough of *this*." 

Of his Amina-love making love with the *worthy*? 

(Did you mean 'people that *you* chose', my husband?) 

I...

Amina laughs *messily* around Jason's cock — 

Treville *lets* himself turn — just in time to see Jason buck, cup Amina's head, urge her to take him, take all of him — 

d'Artagnan croons and stares and *blushes* — 

Stares at the way Amina is on her knees and one hand — the other is wrapped round Jason's bollocks — big round arse up and sex dripping and *exposed* — 

Stares and blushes *more* — 

Treville hums. "Have you maybe only played with other *boys*, d'Artagnan?" 

d'Artagnan blinks and blinks — 

Yips — 

*Tears* his eyes away — "Um — no. I — I played. There were girls." 

Treville raises his eyebrows. He can tell that was the truth, but... 

"She's — your wife. And — um. The mother of your child, sir," d'Artagnan mutters, looking down — 

Amina *coughs* a laugh — 

Jason groans and tightens his grip — and grins. "d'Artagnan..." 

"I *know* I'm being an idiot —" 

"You're being young, pup," Treville says, squeezing him tight. "It's all right." And he moves to go wash his mouth out. "Just remember — she didn't stop being a woman when she started being mine." 

"Mm. Mmn — in my experience," Jason says — gasps, really — "Women *rarely* stop being women once they truly start." 

"I — um. And I'll just remember that..." 

"Mm-hmmm..." And Amina is working her *head* on Jason's cock, up and down and up again, showing him the pace she likes — and then urging him on — 

"Fuck — *fuck*," Jason says, and *grips* Amina's head. "I want — I want to spend in your *mouth*, not your throat — may I?" 

Amina *groans* and nods — 

"You — you do want to taste me?" 

Amina nods *fervently*, and — 

And this isn't getting his mouth clean. This — 

He resolutely turns *away* — 

"*Do* come here, d'Artagnan..." And the smile in Jason's voice is *starved*.

"Oh — fuck — all right —" 

And *keeps* himself turned away — 

"Why... why don't you start licking away Amina's juices for your Sir...?" 

And — keeps — 

"For. For —" 

"Make her *neat* for him," Jason says, and Treville can *hear* the heat and evil in that smile — 

Amina is groaning and getting her groans chopped *up* — 

Pounded *apart* —

Treville has to do a thorough *job* of this — 

He goes for a second pass with the salt — 

"I want to — I *want* to —" 

(*Do* it, d'Artagnan,) Amina says — 

d'Artagnan is moving *fast* in the edges of Treville's vision — 

(Be — oh. *Oh*. Be *my* good puppy for just this — *OH* —) 

(I can't help it, my tongue, it's so long — I can barely *control* it —) 

(UNH — I — I am being licked by a *dog*,) Amina says, and Treville can feel her, feel her shock, her shock for *being* shocked — 

Feel the part of her which can only *blush* — and they're all a bit stunned for that — 

They're all paused and *panting* — 

(DO NOT STOP!) 

And then they're *not*, and Treville is scrubbing his mouth *viciously* — 

And d'Artagnan is crooning and slurping and *lapping* — 

And Amina is slurping and groaning and *gulping* — 

And Jason — "Do you like it, Amina...?" 

(What do YOU think?) 

"I think this — this is a little more overwhelming for you than you — nngh. Than you *thought* it would be," Jason says — 

And Amina says nothing — 

And Treville can hear Jason fucking her harder, *faster* — 

Hear d'Artagnan *licking* her faster — 

(Oh, sir, sir, she tastes —) 

*Share*.

d'Artagnan *grunts* — and all of them are staggered by the tang of her, by her sweetness and delicious thick *musk* — 

Amina *sobs* — 

Treville *scrubs* his mouth — 

And Jason pants and pants and — "*I* think... that you never saw *this* coming, Amina..." 

Amina groans *loudly*, punctuated by Jason's vicious *thrusts* — 

"I think you're — you're just — shocked and — hungry and —" 

Treville spits one last time and *moves* for the bed — 

Amina is *nodding* — 

As much as Jason is *letting* her — 

d'Artagnan *feels* Treville coming and moves aside — 

Amina stiffens and *reaches* — 

Treville *grips* her hand with his right and spreads her lips with his left and *shoves* his tongue *in* — 

She *howls* — 

"I think — I think you're just. Like. *Me*," Jason says, snarling and slamming *in* with his cock, fucking her hard, *hard* — 

And d'Artagnan is moaning and hungry again, hard again and *sharing* it with all of them, sharing his *need* for all of them — as he wriggles down under Amina's body — "Please let this be all *right* —" — and starts suckling her *breasts * — 

She stiffens again — but only for a moment before she starts to writhe in place, before she starts to fill all their minds with her need, her pleasure, her shock, her hunger for more and more and more of *exactly* what she's *getting*. 

Treville growls and kisses her, licks her, makes *love* to her cunt and fucks it fast, *fast*. He remembers *everything* she's said about lovemaking over the years, and he knows this is what she *likes* when she's close, knows this is what she *wants* —

(Oh *fuck* —) 

I *love* you!

And he can feel, they can *all* feel, her eyes rolling up, feel her trembling on the *edge* — 

Feel her *shift* rippling and roiling through her, muscular and *strong* — 

"Oh — oh, you beautiful *hounds*," Jason says, snapping his hips hard, hard, *hard* — "Oh — I need — I *need*," he says, snarling and *roaring* as he — 

And Amina shares the feel of him pulling out —

Pulling out just *enough* to fill her *mouth* with thick-smoky-musky spend — 

d'Artagnan groans and *croons* around her breast — 

Shares the feel of stiff, fat nipple on his tongue — 

Jason spurts *again* — 

Treville *sucks* at Amina's flexing cunt — 

And Amina clenches hard and spurts all over Treville's *face* — 

d'Artagnan *yips* — 

Jason *shouts* — 

And Amina chokes on a *messy* howl as she spurts twice *more*, shuddering and sweating, quaking and sending up waves of pleasure and *sweetness* and *musk* — 

His *mate* — 

Treville keeps his tongue right where it is until her shudders slow down, and then he pulls out and starts lapping her clean while *she* laps and tortures *Jason* clean. 

And while d'Artagnan communes with her breasts more. 

(They're all I can reach!) 

(Do you *not* like them, d'Artagnan?) And Amina's got that dangerous tone to her voice that Treville's not had a chance to *warn* d'Artagnan about — 

(I love them! They're very nice breasts! The nicest! I'm not thinking about breastfeeding at all!) 

Treville splutters — 

Amina makes a very interesting cawing noise — 

*Around* Jason's cock — she pushes him back — 

"I'm very mournful about this —"

"Do not *splutter* into my cunt!" 

"I will... try very hard to avoid it?" 

"*I* will definitely never do it, Amina," Jason says. "You should only spurt all over my face from now on." 

Amina snickers, pushing up and rolling onto her back — 

d'Artagnan looks *bereft* — 

Amina snickers *more* — 

"And *that* is why, d'Artagnan, you will find that humour has its place in the bedroom, but that that place isn't *everywhere*," Jason says. 

"Yes it *is*," Amina says, beckoning them all closer with both hands. 

"But —" 

"*But*, old brother, *humor* reminds me who I am and when to take *breaks*." 

d'Artagnan cuddles up between Amina and Treville. "You don't find that um. Losing yourself is better?" 

Amina shares a look with Jason, who has taken her other side. 

Jason raises an eyebrow — 

And Amina snorts and blushes. "Perhaps there is something to be said for losing yourself..." 

Jason strokes her cheek. "Perhaps for our husband's big knot...?"

The hunger on her face is —

So — 

Treville licks his entire face and *flexes* — 

And both Amina and Jason *look* at him before Amina says. "I would give myself *over* for that *every* day." 

Treville *growls* — 

"And so would our d'Artagnan..." And Jason licks his lips. 

"Oh — yeah. Yeah, I would. I really — I don't even *know* how it'll feel, but —" 

Jason beckons d'Artagnan closer — 

"Mm? I —" And d'Artagnan leans in across Amina — 

And Jason kisses him *hard* — 

"*Mm* — mmmm..." 

— and shares memories of being knotted, being *tied* by Treville — and by the dog. 

d'Artagnan moans into his mouth and *shakes* — 

Amina cups d'Artagnan's cock and strokes *slowly* — 

And Treville kisses the back of d'Artagnan's neck and reaches for the pot of oil that Jason has floated back across the room.

It's time. 

(It — it *is*! Oh, sir, sir, I want all of this!) 

You'll have it, Treville says, and slicks his hand again. 

d'Artagnan groans — into the air. Jason has broken the kiss. Amina has *not* released d'Artagnan's cock. 

"I do not think I *should*, my husband..." And she's smiling sharply and *working* d'Artagnan's *deeply* impressive cock — 

d'Artagnan is *panting* — 

*Clutching* her — 

It almost seems a shame to make him stop, but — "Reach back and spread yourself again, pup. One hand." 

"Oh — I'm sorry, sir!" And he obeys immediately. 

"Shh, you've done nothing wrong," Treville says, and kisses d'Artagnan's throat. "You're supposed to clutch the woman working your cock... right up until she tells you to stop." 

Amina laughs filthily. "Later we will show you *where* to clutch me..."

"*Unh* —"

"Oh, yes, d'Artagnan?" And Jason grins. "You'd like those lessons very much?"

"Every — every lesson! Please!" 

"*Don't* tempt me to teach you how to scrub pots, d'Artagnan," Amina says — 

d'Artagnan yips a breathless laugh — 

And Treville starts rubbing his hole. 

"*Oh*." 

"Is my husband touching your hole, sweet pup?" 

"Yes — oh, yes —" 

"Is he letting you feel all of his calluses?" And Jason reaches across Amina to stroke d'Artagnan's mouth — 

d'Artagnan croons and kisses Jason's fingertips — 

"Oh, that is *very* sweet..." 

"It *is*, old brother," Amina says, sitting up enough to kiss and lick Jason's fingers and d'Artagnan's parted lips — 

"Unh — nuh — oh, *fuck* —" And d'Artagnan kisses her — 

*Sucks* Jason's fingers — 

Licks Amina's face — 

"*Good* pup," Treville says, and rubs a little harder, a little *faster* — 

"S-sir — sir —" 

"Keep licking. Show my mates just how *affectionate* you can be." 

"*Yes*, sir!" 

Jason laughs and moves one hand down to join Amina's on d'Artagnan's cock — 

d'Artagnan *chokes* — 

His hole clenches against Treville's fingers — 

Treville *presses* — 

d'Artagnan whines and laps and laps at Jason's other fingers — 

At Amina's cheeks — 

Amina laughs softly and hungrily — 

Turns on her side and moves her other hand to d'Artagnan's bollocks — 

Scratches and *teases* — 

d'Artagnan *barks* in her face — 

"Oh, sweet pup," she says, lolling her own tongue and licking him *thoroughly* — 

"I'm beginning to grow jealous of all this canine bonhomie," Jason says wryly — 

"I can put in a good word with the All-Mother for you, lover," Treville says, and pushes *in* with one finger — 

d'Artagnan groans and croons and *croons* — 

Jason *coughs* — "Oh... dear. I truly did walk into that..." 

"Yes, you *did*, old brother," Amina says, and licks d'Artagnan more, *more* — 

"And I *will* do it, lover," Treville says, and starts to *fuck* d'Artagnan — 

"*Please*! *Please*!" 

Jason growls and makes Amina *squeeze* d'Artagnan's cock with him — 

d'Artagnan *yelps* — 

"I *don't* truly want to be a dog," Jason says, and bites Amina's ear — 

Amina cries out — 

*Bucks* — 

"I *do* want to spend the rest of my days *fucking* dogs —" 

Amina growls and turns, licking *Jason* — 

Licking into his *mouth* — 

Their kiss is deep and loud and *messy* — 

"Oh, fuck — oh, fuck, that's so hot —" 

"And so is this," Treville says, and *crooks* — 

d'Artagnan *barks* — "Yes! *Yes*, sir! Please, faster! More!" 

Treville *grunts*, cock jerking — "You're that ready for me, pup?" 

"I want it! I *want* — I'm so hungry, I'm so empty —" 

Treville growls and bites his throat again — 

d'Artagnan croons and flexes *open* — open enough for two fingers, if Treville takes it slow, just slow, just — 

And he shares the feel of d'Artagnan's tight arse, so sleek, so *muscular* — 

Jason grunts — 

Amina moans into Jason's *mouth* — 

Treville pushes in all the way to the second knuckle and *flexes* his fingers — 

d'Artagnan *whines* — and barks and barks and *barks* when Amina and Jason start tossing him off faster, harder, *sweeter* — so — 

Treville breaks the bite and licks up to d'Artagnan's ear — "Do you still feel empty, pup?" 

"Nuh — no, sir!"

"Do you feel... full?" 

"Oh... fuck. *Fuck*. No, sir! Please, I know there's so much more!" 

Jason and Amina stop kissing, and Amina darts in to *suck* d'Artagnan's throat — 

"*Yes* — *please* —"

"Should mon amant open you wide, d'Artagnan?"

"*Yes*! He should — he should —" And d'Artagnan throws his head back and *croons* — 

Amina is *growling* and *biting* — 

All *over* d'Artagnan's throat — 

And Treville is throbbing with the need to do exactly — this. He *rocks* his fingers back and forth and back while d'Artagnan whuffs and croons and *shakes* — 

And loosens for him. 

Loosens for him so — 

Treville growls and speeds *up* — 

And Jason grins at him. "I can *feel* how much you ache, mon amant..." 

"You might want to do something about that." 

Jason blinks — 

Amina laughs around a mouthful of d'Artagnan's *flesh* — filthily. And lifts a leg over d'Artagnan's own. 

Her scents rise immediately, mouth-watering and *rich* — 

Jason *growls* — and moves his hand from d'Artagnan's cock to her cunt — 

Amina breaks her bites to gasp and *squeezes* d'Artagnan's cock again — 

d'Artagnan barks and *bucks* — and then *yelps* and starts *shoving* himself back onto Treville's fingers and forward into Amina's fist — 

"Good pup —" 

"Good, *sweet* pup —" 

"Perfect, you're all —" And Jason growls and does *something* — 

Amina croons low and *hungry* — 

"I've — I've pushed *into* her cunt with two fingers —" 

 

Amina pants and starts to *shift* — 

"Oh, Amina-love..." And Treville can't stop himself from fucking faster, *faster* — 

d'Artagnan is grunting over and *over* again — 

Amina is *holding* herself in a halfway form, shimmering between dog and woman, beautiful and *hungry* — 

"Husbaaand..." 

"Beautiful, you're beautiful, what do you *need*?" 

"*Help*." 

"I —" 

"Allow me," Jason says, and uses the blood-connections among them all to *haul* Amina back to human-form — 

Amina growls and croons and *snarls* — 

"Here," Jason says, and his shoulder flexes — 

Amina *shouts* — 

"Is that better, sister?" 

"Oh — oh, *old* brother —" 

"Do you want me to fuck —" 

"*Yes*!" 

*Jason* snarls, shoulder flexing again — 

Amina barks — 

Blushes — 

Barks *again* — 

d'Artagnan croons low and cups her breasts, squeezes them *hard* — 

"Oh, *yes*!"

Treville crooks *both* of his fingers — 

d'Artagnan *howls*, short and sharp, and pants — 

And he and Amina stare wonderingly and *happily* into each other's eyes. It —

"As an *aside*," Jason says, and starts fucking Amina *faster* with his fingers — 

"*Ai* — oh, *yes* —" 

"This is *yours*, sister — and everything *else*, as *well* —" 

"Oh, *old* brother —"

They kiss again, hard and over Amina's shoulder — 

And Treville has to lick the back of d'Artagnan's sweaty neck, has to — 

Has to crook his fingers *again* — 

Get another *howl* — 

Fuck him *harder* — 

"*Yes*, sir, *yes*, sir, *yes* —" 

Spread his *fingers* — 

d'Artagnan *screams* — 

Treville's cock *spits* slick* — 

"Please don't stop, sir!"

"*Never*," Treville says, and that — that was barely a word. He can do better. "Are you ready for more, yet?" 

"Anything! Everything!"

"Are you *ready* for more." 

"I —" 

"Do you want another thick, rough finger shoved right up your tight little arse?" 

d'Artagnan barks and flexes *wide* — 

"*Good* answer, pup," Treville says, and starts pushing in the third finger immediately — 

"Sir! S-sir —" 

He pauses. "Too much?" 

"No! No, sir!"

"Are you *sure*. I can smell your pain, pup." 

"It's good, sir! It's so — so *good*," d'Artagnan *sobs* — 

Oh... "You like this pain, pup?" And Treville pushes *deep* — 

d'Artagnan howls and bursts out with fresh, hot sweat all over, all *over* — 

Treville licks him from his shoulder to his temple. "You like it when I hurt you?" 

"Sir, *yes*, *please*!" 

"You like it when I open you right up *wide* for me..." 

"Ple—" 

Treville spreads his fingers — 

d'Artagnan *howls*, long and loud — 

And Treville can *feel* that Jason and Amina are watching again, but he can't — he has to focus on his pup right now. "Is that good, too, pup?"

"Sir, please, please, *please* —" 

"Is it *good*." 

"Not — not as much —" 

"Then we just have to get you more prepared," Treville says, and starts to rock again, rock with all three fingers — 

"I... I..." 

"Yes, pup?" 

"I..." And then d'Artagnan drops his head, as much as he can while lying on his side — 

Treville *growls*. 

"Please, is it wrong? Is it —" 

"Shh. It's just right," Treville says, and rocks his fingers more, slow and *hard* — 

"I just — I just — my head's so heavy and I need you, I need you, sir, I need you inside me —" 

Treville bites the back of d'Artagnan's neck and holds *on* — 

*Works* him — 

Reaches round with his free hand — and Amina is still working d'Artagnan's cock, still stroking him and teasing him and tossing him *off* — 

The ignoble, messy murders Treville would've committed for just that seven years ago...

"I will make it *up* to you, my husband," Amina says, breathless and hungry — and sharing the feel of her stuffed-full cunt with all of them. 

Jason's fingers are long and strong and Treville's felt them countless times — but never quite like that. Hm. 

Amina laughs filthily again and makes them all feel her clench around those fingers — 

Again and again — 

They're all groaning and crooning — 

d'Artagnan is *whining* — 

Shaking all *over* —

And Treville has to fuck him faster, has to — 

Has to *open* him *faster* — 

Work him and work him, twist his fingers and *work* him — 

"*Yes*, sir, *yes* —" 

Make his *thrusts* twisting, make d'Artagnan flex open around him every *time* — 

"Unh — *ungh* — I — you make me — make me feel so *hungry* —" 

"I'm starved for you, pup," Treville pants, ignoring his aching cock as much as he can. It's not time for it, yet — 

"It — it's *not*?" 

Treville spreads his fingers again — 

d'Artagnan yelps and *shoves* himself back — "Oh — oh, sir, that..." 

But Treville can't answer. Treville can't — 

He's growling and *fucking* his pup, his beautiful *pup* — 

d'Artagnan is grunting and clutching at Amina again, at her breasts — 

But he'd wanted to be opened *wide*. He'd wanted — 

Treville fucks him, works him, *works* him — 

Opens him *up* — 

Treville has to — 

"I *don't* think you do, amant," Jason says, voice cutting through the haze — 

The musk and *hunger* — 

Treville blinks and *focuses* — and d'Artagnan is crooning and crooning and *riding* Treville's thrusts *perfectly*. He's holding Amina's breasts more like *extremely*-oddly-shaped reins than like anything else, but — 

But he's ready. 

He's *lost* to his own pleasure and he's — 

And there's a part of Treville which only wants to make d'Artagnan spend for his fingers, spend all over Amina's belly and chest so Treville can lick it up — 

"You want *other* things *more*, my husband," Amina says — 

"I want bloody everything," Treville says, biting d'Artagnan's throat again, holding his hip to steady him, and pulling out slowly, slowly — 

d'Artagnan *whines* — 

Whines with so much *need* — 

They can all feel his ache — 

His *emptiness* — 

Not long, pup, not long now — 

"Feel *this* for now," Jason says, and Amina throws her leg back over Jason's own — 

And Jason pushes into her cunt with his *cock* — 

Jason pushes into Amina's *cunt* — 

"Oh, *yesss*, old brother!" And Amina shares the *thickness* of Jason's cock, the impossible *heat* of it, the *seeming* humanity — 

Treville's *mouth* is watering — 

d'Artagnan clenches and flexes around Treville's fingertips over and *over* again, sobbing and babbling incoherently — 

"You're all — nnh. *Very* welcome," Jason says, pulling out and shoving *in* —

They *shout* — 

"Oh — oh, fuck — oh, fuck, Amina — you — *all* of you," Jason says, pulling out and shoving in again, *again* — 

Treville's *hands* are shaking — 

Amina is crooning and *bucking* — 

d'Artagnan is *gasping* —

And Treville has to throw up a wall between himself and his lovers in order to *focus* enough to get *in* — 

Just — 

Just *in* — 

"I recognize the — the *use*, amant, but —" 

"Just — one moment —" And Treville growls and pushes *deep*, one long thrust to give him everything *but* his knot —

d'Artagnan howls and sobs and howls *again* — 

"I sounded — I sounded just the *same* the first time my husband gave me his cock, sweet pup," Amina says, and pulls him in for kisses, licks, nibbles and *bites* — 

d'Artagnan nods and takes it, takes everything, tries to *ride* even though Treville is holding him still by the hip — no he bloody isn't.

He squeezes d'Artagnan's hip *tight*, but lets him move *exactly* the way he needs to, lets him *shove* himself back and back and — 

And Treville is growling, snarling, shoving right *in* to that arse, taking d'Artagnan's rhythm for his own — 

d'Artagnan gurgles into Amina's mouth — 

Amina smiles *blissfully* — 

Jason is *grinding* in — 

Treville needs to *feel* — he drops the wall and is immediately *drowned* in sensation, in the feel of d'Artagnan wide open around him and wanting to be even *more* open — 

In the feel of Jason *buried* in Amina's soft, tight, sloppy-clenching cunt — 

In the feel of Amina *taking* Jason's cock and wanting harder, *harder* — 

And getting it — 

Getting it *immediately* — 

They're all making so much *noise* — 

And Treville knows that he's spreading d'Artagnan wider, that he's pushing *in* with his knot — 

That d'Artagnan is barking and barking and *trembling* — 

Good pup, strong pup, has to — 

Has to *take* — 

(Yes, sir!) 

— but there's so much musk in his nose, so many sweet cries and *shouts* in his ears — 

So much *sex*, and he can't stop, can't slow down, can't even *pause* — 

(Don't! *Don't*!) 

And he's snarling again, shoving and shoving and *shoving*, and d'Artagnan is sharing everything, *everything* — 

And Jason is groaning and cursing and *sweating*, and Amina is tossing her head and shifting again, shifting just like she'd done the first time he'd given her his knot, even though it had made her smaller — 

So sleek and curly-furred and *beautiful* — 

So — 

And under him, around him, barking and howling just like d'Artagnan is, just like — 

And they'd both lowered their *heads* — 

Jason had, *too* — 

Treville snarls and bites again, *again*, breaking the skin this time — 

Taking his pup's sweet-iron *blood* — 

He flexes open just that tiny bit more — 

Treville's knot pops *in* — 

d'Artagnan and Amina howl *together* while Jason groans and *shakes* — 

And Treville can't wait even — even one *moment*. He *grips* d'Artagnan's neck in his jaws and ruts, *ruts* — 

Fucks his pup, takes him hard, *hard* — 

Feels him blush and yip and *need* — and Treville can help Amina toss him off, help firm her shaky grip and teach her exactly what d'Artagnan *likes* — 

What he *craves* — 

This fast for the shaft — 

This rough for the head —

This *brutal* for his fat, perfect knot — 

And then Jason grunts and covers d'Artagnan's hands on Amina's breasts, molests them *both* — 

Licks her with *his* long tongue and bites her and *fucks* her hard, *hard* — 

Hard and *fast* —

They're all *sharing* — 

Treville couldn't stop with a bloody pistol to his head — 

Treville *wouldn't* stop with a pistol to his head and the Spanish armies *behind* it. He — 

He feels hot, burning with it, skin tight and body *loose*, mind *lost* —

His lovers *have* him — 

He has his *lovers* — 

Amina's making him feel wet and sloppy and Jason's making him feel bloody *pounded*, and his pup — 

Oh, his *pup* — 

Treville bites him again — 

Bites him again and again and *again*, crushes him to Amina and *strips* his big, gorgeous cock as he pants and yips and croons, just croons, just — 

So *lost* to it — 

So hungry for exactly what he's *getting* — 

The inside of his mind is bright and wild with colour and feeling, pleasure, *sweetness* — 

His cock is *spasming* in Treville's and Amina's fists — 

Drooling all over them and — no. Treville breaks the bite and licks d'Artagnan's ear. "*Spend*." 

d'Artagnan gasps and goes rigid — 

Clenches tight enough to make Treville *snarl* — 

And then he howls and spurts all over himself and Amina, spurts hot and thick and white, musky, *fresh* — 

Shudders and howls *more*, spurting and bucking and bucking and — 

Making Treville lose even more of his *mind* — 

Amina moves to milk his knot *immediately* — 

d'Artagnan *yelps* — 

Treville shoves his spend-slick fingers in her mouth — 

She grunts and *slurps* — 

d'Artagnan croons and croons and *shakes* — 

And then Jason shoves his *Amina*-slick fingers in *his* mouth. 

d'Artagnan yips and slurps and moans and croons more, cleaning Jason's fingers *thoroughly* even when Treville starts biting him again, starts fucking him harder —

Harder and — 

Faster — 

He needs to *spend* — 

"You need to — mn. Fill your pup's *arse*, amant..." 

Fuck — 

"You need to *mark* him..." 

Treville's moving the *bed* — 

"You need to let *everyone* know he's *yours*," Jason says, and leans in to bite Amina's *ear* — 

She stiffens and sucks Treville's fingers *hard* — 

Treville growls and urges d'Artagnan to share again, share how *hard* he's being fucked, how hard he's being *pounded* — 

"Ah, *fuck*, amant —" 

Amina croons and *shakes* — 

And Jason takes his rhythm for her, takes it and takes *her* — 

Her cries spiral high and loud and *sweet*, so — 

She *howls* — 

She — 

She howls so — 

And the scents of her spend take over everything, the way they have since they were just two foolish barely-adults lying side-by-side in a narrow bed, tossing themselves off together because it wasn't *time* to make love, yet. Because — 

But those days are done, and Jason can tug his fingers out of d'Artagnan's mouth — 

"Mm —" 

Slick them with more of Amina's juices — 

"Oh, *yes* —" 

And shove them into *Treville's* mouth, make him full, make him right, make him *full* — or not quite. 

Not until Amina makes him feel Jason fucking her *viciously* hard, *raggedly* hard as he tries and fails to keep his control — 

Until d'Artagnan yelps and clenches for all the shared *feeling* and Treville thrusts *in* — 

"Amant, I —" And Jason groans and shudders and *pumps* spend into Amina, fills her, *fills* her — 

*In* — 

"Do it, my husband, *do* it —" 

"Please, please, please, sir, *fill* —"

And Treville can't do anything but follow orders, can't do anything but bite down hard one more time, taking his pup's blood and slamming in and in and *in* even as he spends, even as he fills his pup right *up* — 

"Make — make me *yours* —" 

You'll — you'll *never* be anyone else's — 

And d'Artagnan rumbles and rumbles and clenches *tight*, making Treville gasp and spend more — 

"Oh — oh, *yeah*, sir," d'Artagnan says, and *works* his arse. 

Treville spends even more — 

*More* — 

"My husband! *I* am the one you are supposed to be fruitful with!"

Jason *snorts*. 

d'Artagnan just keeps rumbling. 

Treville *thinks* he'll stop spending reasonably soon. 

Possibly. 

d'Artagnan *moans* — "You could do that all *night* as far as I'm concerned," he says, breathless and fervent. 

Treville's cock *jerks* —

His knot is swollen enough that when he spurts *this* time, it's *excruciating* — 

He groans helplessly around Jason's fingers — 

"Do be careful, d'Artagnan," Jason says, and laughs softly. "We don't want him to faint." 

Amina tugs *Treville's* fingers out of her mouth. "I would like to see this, I think. It would be good to have something *else* to laugh at him for." 

Treville groans *more* — and tugs Jason's fingers free. "Have I mentioned how much I missed you being mean to me?" 

"You better have!"

Treville's cock jerks *again* — but doesn't spurt anymore. He doesn't know whether to be grateful for that or not. 

Amina snickers at him —

And d'Artagnan moans quietly and reaches back to feel around where they're joined. 

*That* never stops being wonderful —

"Oh — yeah? I just — it feels so *strange*." 

"Being plugged-up tight, pup?" 

d'Artagnan groans — and *his* cock jerks. "*Fuck*. You really are — and I'm not even *leaking*." 

Jason laughs meanly. "Going by experience... you *won't* leak. For at *least* half an hour." 

"*Fuck*. And — it's the same for you, Amina?" 

Amina hums. "I *always* make him fuck me once or twice more." 

"Oh fuck, I — I don't know if I could *take* that, but I *want* to." 

Jason laughs *richly*. "Cunts have a bit more ability to *stretch*, d'Artagnan — and a *great* deal of natural power." 

"Really? That *much* more?" 

Treville hums and nips d'Artagnan's ear. "My cock is much, much narrower than a baby's head, pup." 

"Oh — *oh*." 

Amina snickers *hard*. "I can *force* my husband out of my cunt with a bit of concentrated effort — and help. If I *want* to." 

d'Artagnan grins. "And who really would, right?" 

Amina rumbles and cups d'Artagnan's face — 

d'Artagnan rumbles right back, turning to lick and kiss her hands — 

"We are so lucky to *know* you, sweet pup."

d'Artagnan croons —

"It seems so improbable that a gift from a god should be so *unrelentingly* positive," Jason says. 

d'Artagnan *blushes* —

And Treville licks d'Artagnan's temple and his ear, and his throat. "I love you." 

"I'm *yours*, sir! And I — I — everything about being a part of this pack has been... better. So much better than anything I've had, and um. Sometimes I feel guilty?" 

They all start talking at once, urging him to be kinder to himself and not deny himself *happiness* — 

"No, no, it's not — it's not that. I mean, I *know* my Dad wanted me to be happy when I was an adult, and he even *said* that he wanted me to leave Gascony someday if that's where — where the world *took* me. I just, still feel it. That's all." 

Treville nods. "I wish I could've known your father, son. Everything you say about him, everything I've been shown by you and the All-Mother... he seems like he was a wonderful man." 

d'Artagnan snorts. "Well, he would've had a few things to say to *you* —" 

Amina snickers *hard* — 

"To *all* of you, actually, now that I think about it — but. But then I'd explain it. I'd explain it all. And he'd understand, I think," d'Artagnan says, and ducks his head. "Or try to." 

Jason strokes d'Artagnan's cheek. "One of the reasons why I love you so deeply, d'Artagnan, is that *you* know precisely how much of a gift *that* is." 

"Well — *yeah*," d'Artagnan says, and licks Jason's fingers. "And I love you, too. You've been such a wonderful *teacher* and friend and — and so much *else*. But — you were right the first time. I was *given* something with this. And — and I'm taking it." 

*Treville* rumbles helplessly — 

And they hold each other.


	12. Quality Time.

The dog lies on the grass with his Porthos, with his nose pressed to the big, leather ball. 

Earlier, they and Massacreur-dog were playing with it, but Massacreur-dog had to go be d'Artagnan with their Reynard and their Kitos for man-lessons, and also his Porthos has gotten somewhat tired. 

The dog would be able to smell it, even if his Porthos hadn't sat down willingly. 

Sometimes his Porthos would rather keep going, it seems, until he *falls* down — 

This is the way of pups. 

Right now, his Porthos is reading one of his books and petting the dog, and all is calm and quiet except for the loud cracks of pistols on the other side of the house. The dog had gotten used to that easily enough, but he knows sometimes there are horses born who can't get used to it, at all, and they have to go. 

The dog sometimes wonders *where* they go, since it seems to him that this whole world is very noisy and full of man-sounds — 

MOTHER shares with him visions of vast, cool forests which have no men in them, at all, yet.

And places with great bodies of water between them where the quiet is still large, even though there are men. 

Other places, on spheres other than this. 

The dog rumbles. All right. 

"Mm? What is it, Daddy?" 

His Porthos is very attentive. The dog looks up into his Porthos's eyes — his Porthos still has a difficult time understanding when the dog doesn't do this — and says: I was talking to MOTHER. 

His Porthos blinks. "The *All*-Mother?" 

The dog whuffs. 

His Porthos nods thoughtfully. "Should I do that?" 

The dog whuffs — but then thinks about it. You're not ripe. 

"That makes a difference?" 

The dog whuffs fervently. When he was a pup — before he died and MOTHER took him in to hold him until there was a witch ready for him — he hardly ever talked to MOTHER, and, when he did, it was hard. And hard *on* him. He tries to express that to his Porthos. 

"Jason says gods are... big. Too big for mortals, and even some *immortals*." 

The dog thinks about that. 

Chews on it. 

Chews more — whuffs. 

His Porthos nods and turns back to his book, which the dog knows is somehow different from most of the other books in the house, but he isn't sure how. It smells like just as much of a waste of good sticks as all the others to *him*.

He tucks his nose back in against the ball and dozes — not long. 

His Porthos is looking at him curiously. The dog croons a question. 

"When will *I* be ripe?" 

That's a hard question. Witch-children don't grow like other pups. 

He asks MOTHER —

MOTHER shows him plants that the dog knows very well take *years* to mature. 

The dog shares that with his Porthos. 

"That *long*?" 

MOTHER says. 

His Porthos frowns. "I'm not a — a *baby*."

The dog whuffs agreement. But. Massacreur-dog is still a pup, too. 

"But is *he* ripe?" 

Yes, but he hasn't been for long. 

His Porthos stares wide-eyed. "But — he's almost a man! Lots of people *would* consider him a man. That's what Uncle Reynard and Uncle Kitos said, anyway." 

The dog whuffs. 

His Porthos frowns again, but nods slowly. "I suppose She would know." 

The dog whuffs in satisfaction.

His Porthos takes the wonderful ball, then rolls it the short distance to the dog's muzzle. 

The dog pants a grin and noses it back. 

His Porthos laughs a child-laugh, drops the book, picks up the ball, and runs. 

The dog gets up and chases, feeling Treville's *concern* inside him that their Porthos get enough rest. 

The dog promises to tackle him, if necessary. 

For now — 

"Daddy! Get it!" And their Porthos throws the ball just as hard as he can. 

For now, there is play.

end.


End file.
